


Every Lonely Place

by HamPalpert



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Football Coach Louis, Magical Elements, Marketing Executive Harry, Marriage Proposal, Mildly Dubious Consent, Musician Louis, Period-Typical Homophobia, Soulmates, Time Travel, closeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21795185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamPalpert/pseuds/HamPalpert
Summary: Facing the fact that he’s been prioritizing his career over his relationship, Harry proposes to his longtime boyfriend Louis on a whim.  But when yet another work emergency takes precedence over their plans, Louis decides he’s had enough.  Harry goes to bed drunk and alone, and when he wakes, he finds himself in an entirely different world.  Over and over again, Harry visits a lifetime he’s once lived, across time and dimensions.  And wherever there’s a Harry Styles, there’s a Louis Tomlinson.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 106
Kudos: 493
Collections: 28 Proposals Fic Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from _Where Do Broken Hearts Go_ by 1D, of course.
> 
> I've tagged this as 'mildly dubious consent' because there's time travel involved, unbeknownst to all of the characters. Everyone has enthusiastically consented.
> 
> Thank you to T for the beta on the first 6 chapters! All errors beyond that are on me! 
> 
> Lastly, thanks to Lauren for moderating!

Harry wakes like he often does on a Saturday: to the sound of Louis crashing through the house. He groans, and rolls over into the warm spot Louis left behind. He’d gone to bed late last night, and judging by the headache that already wraps around his skull, the four hours he’d managed were not nearly enough. He’d come home late from work, had a quick meal and a long fuck, then got right back to work whilst Louis had rolled over and gone to sleep.

He rolls out of bed, heads into the toilet for a piss, then stumbles down the stairs for some paracetamol. Louis should be heading out soon, and Harry’s got to use that time to pop into the office. He’s sure Louis won’t mind, especially if it means they have an uninterrupted afternoon and evening to themselves. 

He finds Louis bent over as he digs through the small shed in the garden, arse looking delectable in his footie shorts. Harry can’t help himself, and announces his presence by draping himself crotch-first over Louis’s back.

“Oof. Fuck off,” Louis groans, bucking Harry off. “You seen them practice balls? Was sure I put ‘em in here after Thursday’s scrimmage.”

“Did you look in the boot?” Harry asks, crowding against him again. Roaming his palms over Louis’s arse, he adds, “Speaking of putting things in boots…”

“No,” Louis says flatly, but he’s grinning when he turns round. “I’ve hardly got time for brekkie, much less a quickie.”

“See, that’s why they call them quickies,” Harry teases him, following him through the front gate to the driveway, where Louis’s hatchback is parked. 

Louis peers into the rear of the car. “Oh, good, they’re in there.” He gives Harry a once over, raising his eyebrows when he takes in Harry’s nakedness, save for pants. “Giving the neighbors a free show, are you?”

Harry grinds his hips in midair, making his cock bounce within its confines. “Mrs. Harding did bring us a tin of biscuits the other day.”

“Huh,” Louis ponders. “Those were delicious.” He sidesteps Harry, swatting his bum on the way back into the house. “Keep on, then.”

Louis heads directly for the electric kettle when they’re back in the kitchen. “Want to grab an egg butty on the way to the pitch?” he asks distractedly, as he fills the kettle at the sink.

“Actually,” Harry says, “thought I’d skip it and get a bit done in the office.”

Louis goes still. “Skip it?”

Harry shrugs, suddenly apprehensive. Louis’s been fine with him missing the majority of the games this season. His group of boys isn’t exactly stellar this year, and the weather’s been unusually grim, even for England. Today might be the first day Louis won’t have to coach in his rain jacket.

“I’ve got that big project due next week. Didn’t think you’d mind.”

Louis finally turns his head. The water, still running, spills over the side of the kettle. “I specifically asked you last night if you’d be there to support me today.”

Harry frowns, racking his brain. It can’t be tournament time yet. The season’s only just begun. The team likely won’t even be good enough to place, anyway.

Louis stares at him. “Bradley’s dad? Remember?”

Harry keeps frowning, annoyed by the implication that he hadn’t been present when Louis’d told him all about the homophobic parent of one of his players. “You said he’d pulled him from the team.”

Louis sets the kettle down with more force than necessary, then turns off the water. “And made a stink of it on Facebook! This is the first game since it happened! I wanted to prove to the rest of them today that you and me are normal blokes who just happen to love one another.”

“They already know that, though,” Harry says, shuffling his feet where he stands. “The rest of them are alright with it.”

“They don’t even know you!” Louis explodes.

“Yes, they do!” Harry argues back hotly. “Noah’s mum made us that quilt for the sofa.”

“Two seasons ago!” Louis shouts. “Harry, you made it to three matches last season. And you haven’t even  _ met _ this lot.”

“I have,” Harry argues. “I was at the game the other week.”

“Right,” Louis drawls, sarcasm dripping from his mouth. “The one where you sat on your mobile in the car park until I was finished.”

Harry sputters. He does remember that. They’d had an emergency at work and he’d had to take a conference call with the head PR team. “Lou, I–” There’s no excuse for it. He hangs his head. “I didn’t mean to.”

Louis sighs, shoulders falling. “I know you didn’t. You never do.”

Harry moves round the island to put his arms around Louis. Louis lets himself be embraced, but doesn’t hug back. “I’m sorry,” Harry breathes into Louis’s shoulder. “Work has just been so crazy lately.”

Louis puts both palms on the edge of the worktop and leans into Harry’s chest. “Feels like it’s been a lot longer than lately.”

Harry sighs, tamping down his frustration. Whilst Marketing certainly was never Harry’s passion, it suits his persuasive personality and competitive streak. He’s worked hard to move his way up the corporate ladder, and their finances have enjoyed a boost as well. Louis, making peanuts with his combined music lessons and football coaching gigs, certainly isn’t contributing much. 

“It’s only for a few hours,” Harry wheedles. “We’ve got a firm deadline and I’ve been pulling my hair out. I’m all yours tonight and Sunday. We’ll do something different together.”

Finally, Louis turns in his arms, settling his hands on Harry’s bare chest. “Maybe we can take some time to talk a bit.”

Harry frowns, a trickle of nerves leaking in. “Talk about what?”

Louis shrugs. “Just talk. All we have time for is sex lately. Not that I’m complaining,” he nudges Harry playfully with his hips. “Just been a while since we’ve really had a chat. We used to stay up all night telling one another about our hopes and dreams.”

Harry winces, recognizing Louis’s observation as the truth. He hasn’t exactly had the emotional energy at the end of the day to devote to Louis’s need for conversation. It’s been easier to turn off his brain, so to speak, and meet the needs of his more primal side when he’s got just a few hours until he closes his eyes.

They met in uni, through mutual friends, and hit it off immediately, becoming exclusive after just a month of dating, and moving in together six months after that. They spoke often about what their life would look like five, ten years down the road. Now that it’s been nearly 11, they’ve got the house, but not the marriage and kids. They’ve talked about changing that, but it’s been put on the back burner ever since Harry’s promotion to Assistant Marketing Director. That was over two years ago. It’s startling to realize how long things have been stagnant. He never anticipated that his career would keep them from doing the things they’d once prioritized as a new couple.

Harry squeezes Louis tighter. “That sounds lovely.”

Louis tips his face up to kiss him, then slides around him. “Thanks to you I’m now forced to go to the McDonald’s drive-thru or I’ll be late.”

Harry laughs. “Something tells me you aren’t exactly devastated.”

Louis winks at him as he toes on his shoes. In contrast to Harry, his anger always dissipates quickly. “See you in a bit. Don’t work too hard.”

When Louis leaves, Harry heads upstairs for a quick shower, then dresses for the office. He bypasses his gauzy, floral shirts with a sigh. He’s grown used to wearing full suits in muted colors daily by now, but he misses the days where he dressed as flamboyantly as he wanted. Louis, of course, gets to wear trackies to work. He grabs an apple from the basket, a protein bar from the pantry, and heads out the door.

His commute is a bit of a leg, but traffic is lighter than on a workday. He’s lucky he enjoys driving, or the hours he spends daily in his car would be nothing short of torture. The weather’s nice today, so he parks in the car park and steps out to the sidewalk rather than take the walkway. 

There’s a little market set up in the outdoor auditorium sandwiched between the buildings. During the work week, he’s never seen anything set up there aside from the occasional group of tourists milling around, businesspeople grabbing a quick bite or a struggling musician with an open guitar case. 

Harry gazes curiously as he passes. It’s been ages since he’s been to a flea market. Years ago, during his uni days, it was a tradition to come every Saturday, sometimes by himself, sometimes with mates. He scrounged his pennies to pick up some well-loved furniture pieces and knick-knacks. In fact, he still has many of them in his and Louis’s current townhome. But now that he has the money to give in to his hipster taste and whims, time is in short supply. 

He really should get into the office, but there’s something that draws him forward. Just a few minutes of browsing won’t hurt anything. He’ll just skip the coffee run he’d planned at the cafe on the ground floor.

He joins the small throng of people moving booth to booth. It’s mostly odds and ends, not a lot of furniture or art pieces that typically draw Harry’s eyes. But a glass display filled with antique jewelry at the end of the row catches Harry’s eye. 

He’s gotten away from wearing his rings in his corporate job, but there was a time when he’d wear one, or even two, on every finger. He’s collected them over the years through various experiences and travels, and several have been gifts from Louis.

A woman seated behind the booth, long blonde hair pulled back by a bright purple bandana, stands and smiles at him as he approaches.

“Lovely day,” she says, by way of greeting. “What brings you here on a Saturday?”

“Oh, I was just on my way to the office,” Harry says. “Something pulled me here.”

The woman smiles. Somehow, it’s unnerving. “It was meant to be.”

Harry leans over the case. “Wow. These pieces are incredible.” They all have a vintage, hand-made feel. Heavy bracelets, unusual rings, all made of pounded metal, some of them inlaid with gems, or engraved.

“Each piece has a special story,” the woman tells him proudly. “Are you a lover of jewelry, or looking for a friend?”

“For me, mostly,” Harry says. “I’ve got quite the collection at home, but it’s frowned upon at my job.”

“That’s a shame,” the woman says. “You have lovely hands for rings.”

Harry ducks his head, flattered and embarrassed. “Thank you.” His eyes catch on a set of rings in an open velvet box. The thicker of the two is a copper band, with hammered silver outer bands, with silver rivets. The thinner of the two is a matching hammered ring, with a thin ring of copper surrounded by wider silver bands– much more understated than the other, but equally as breathtaking.

He’s never thought of proposing beyond the abstract before, but seeing this perfect set of rings suddenly makes the idea much more concrete. He knows Louis’s been unhappy with the status quo as of late. Whilst that’s unlikely to change for a while, a guarantee of Harry’s commitment to their relationship would certainly prove to Louis that no matter what challenges they face, Harry’s in it for the long haul.

“Those are gorgeous,” Harry breathes. “Can I look closer?”

“Of course!” Smiling, the woman pulls the box out of the case and sets it carefully on the top. “You can try them on if you like.”

Reverently, Harry pulls out the more ostentatious of the two and slides it onto the ring finger of his left hand. There’s not a bit of resistance.

“Fits you like a glove.” The woman beams. “Now, the other in the set is just a touch smaller.”

“Oh, that’s perfect, actually,” Harry says, unable to take his eyes off of his finger– his wedding ring finger, wearing what could potentially be the ring he’ll wear for the rest of his life. “I’m planning to propose. My boyfriend’s got smaller hands.”

The woman’s eyes light up. “How wonderful! May I?”

Before Harry can respond, she’s holding his hand in hers, inspecting his ring finger before turning his palm up. Harry watches curiously as her eager face contorts into something like disgruntlement.

“Are you quite certain that a proposal is the correct decision?”

“We’ve been together a long time. This is something we’ve always wanted,” Harry says, on the edge of defensive. “And things have been… well, it’s been a crazy year, and I just want to show him that I’m committed to him.”

The woman’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you suppose actions are better than empty promises?”

“It’s not an empty promise,” Harry huffs, annoyed. “I’m going to marry him.”

“But will you be happy?” She presses. “Will he still love you when you miss your second anniversary because you’ve stayed late at the office again?”

Harry pulls his hand out of her grasp. “That’s not– I won’t! I’m new at my job. I’m just getting my feet wet. Lou’s always understood that.”

The woman ‘hms’, unconvinced.

“Look,” Harry says through his teeth. “I’ve known since the moment I met Louis that we were meant to be together. Nothing means more to me than his happiness. I’d give up anything for him if he asked me to.”

The woman’s smile is grim. “Pity he won’t.”

“Will you sell me the rings or not?” Harry practically shrieks.

The woman gives him a long look. Finally, she nods, reaching into the glass case to retrieve the velvet box. “That’ll be 200 quid.”

Harry sighs in relief, then raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Only 200?” He thought he’d be quoted double that, at least.

“Trust me,” the woman says, as she watches Harry dig through his wallet. “You will pay more than that in the end. I do hope you find it was worth it.”

Harry pauses, a shiver running down his spine. This entire exchange has been strange, but for some odd reason, he feels genuinely spooked. 

“Well,” he says, handing over the notes, “true love is always worth it.”

For the first time since he’d approached her booth, the woman smiles genuinely. “Perhaps you are not as lost a cause as I first thought.” She presses the box into his hand. “Enjoy the journey.”

Work is unproductive because he can’t stop reaching into his pocket to pull out the ring box. If someone had asked him last night if he’d be planning a proposal before noon the next day, he’d have laughed. But now that he’s got these rings in front of him, it feels serendipitous.

He manages to stay completely mum about the rings and his plan for the rest of Saturday. He takes Louis out for dinner, rather than suggest their usual takeaway on the sofa. Louis is pleasantly surprised, mentioning a few times during dinner how long it’s been since they’ve had a date night. Cognizant of Louis’s comment that they’ve prioritized their sex life over the emotional aspect of their relationship, Harry tries to keep his hands to himself as they cuddle on the sofa– even with Louis partially in his lap. But they seem to run out of things to talk about within a few minutes, and eventually, he’s got a full lap of Louis.

It certainly isn’t the most romantic sex they’ve ever had. When they’re through, Louis tips over on his side and asks for Harry to hand him the remote. They spend the rest of the night in silence.

On Sunday morning, Harry carefully disentangles himself from Louis and puts on his running clothes. Louis groans, and glares blearily at him with one eye when Harry knocks his shin into the bedrail.

“Just going for a jog,” Harry whispers to him. As expected, Louis huffs and rolls over. Never in his life has Harry ever managed to coerce Louis into running with him.

This time, being alone works in his favor. Harry is going for a run, but he’s also going to pop to the shop to purchase a couple rations of bacon and some fresh eggs. He can’t even recall the last time he treated Louis to his much-loved full English.

The smell of cooking rouses Louis two hours later. Harry, in just his pants, hair damp from his shower, feels Louis’s arms wind around his waist from behind.

“What’s all this?” Louis’s voice is still scratchy from sleep, but he sounds pleased. He kisses between Harry’s shoulder blades.

“Just thought I’d whip something up,” Harry says, turning around in his arms and kissing him good morning.

“Cooking bacon in your pants. That’s a bold move,” Louis teases, swatting lightly at Harry’s soft cock. “Don’t injure the goods.”

Harry yelps and darts away, nearly genuinely injuring himself on the side of the hot pan. Louis grimaces in apology, and they both laugh.

“So, what’s the occasion?” Louis asks, helping himself to hot water from the kettle. (Harry would never dare try to make Louis’s tea for him.)

Harry shrugs, going for nonchalant. “Thought we'd have breakfast here, then head out to the park for a kick about. Then lunch and a film?”

Louis stares at him, mouth agape, the bit of beans he’d just snuck from the pot nearly falling out. “Are you fucking pulling my leg?”

Harry huffs, a bit offended at the disbelief. “No! We’ve not spent much quality time together lately. I just wanted to do the planning for once.” Of the two of them, Louis’s the more romantic one. It’s been a while, but In the past it was a common occurrence for Harry to come home to a bouquet of flowers and his favorite takeout, and a rom-com queued up on Netflix.

Louis grins. “But you hate playing footie.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I don’t hate it, I’m just terrible at it.”

Louis crosses his arms, playfully suspicious. “You hate losing.”

Harry hums, transferring the bacon to a paper towel. “But I love you.”

Louis raises his brows, reaching for a strip of bacon. “Hmm.”

Harry swats his hand away. “Hmm what?”

Louis gives up trying to sneak food and instead sits at the breakfast bar, waiting to be served. “It’s just unlike you, is all. Suspicious. You’re not cheating on me, are you?”

Harry whips around to stare at him, jaw dropping in hot objection, only to find Louis grinning cheekily at him.

“Cmon,” Louis teases. “Out with it. You want me to do that thing again, don’t you? The one we tried on holiday?”

Harry flushes. “No! I mean, maybe, if you’re offering. But no, that’s not the reason.”

“There is a reason though,” Louis triumphs. “Tell me. Tell me,” he urges, as Harry turns his back to plate the food. “You know I’ll just keep pestering you until I wear you down.”

Harry huffs fondly. He should’ve known this is how it would go down. A curious mix of spontaneous and a control freak, is Louis. He enjoys surprises but gets extra pleasure from sussing them out beforehand.

“Fine,” he says. “Eat your breakfast and wait here.”

Louis makes an aborted noise of protest as Harry exits the kitchen. He’d stashed the ring box in one of his winter coat pockets in the foyer closet when he came home the other day. He pauses there, in the dark of the closet, weighing the box in his hands. He doesn’t have hesitations, per se, but it’s a big step, and quite a spontaneous one at that. But there isn’t any question that he wants to marry Louis, sometime in the near future.

He takes a deep breath, then closes his fist around the box as he walks back to the kitchen. Louis looks up when Harry enters, cheeks comically full with food.

“What is it?” he asks through his mouthful, taking in Harry’s nervous energy. His eyes linger on the hand Harry’s hidden behind his back. Then, his eyes go wide, and he pushes his plate away and swallows. “Oh. Fuck.”

Harry chuckles nervously, coming round the side of the island. “This, uh, wasn’t exactly how I imagined this happening.” He lowers himself down onto one knee, and Louis gasps, eyes already gone watery. “Lou. I love you so much.”

Louis sniffles. “I love you too.”

Harry swallows. He hadn’t exactly had time to plan what he was going to say, but winging it works too. “I know things have been different lately, but I just want you to know that no matter what’s going on, I always want you to be by my side for it. So, um...” He pulls the ring box from behind his back, fumbling a little as he opens it with shaking fingers. Above him, Louis chuckles softly, and Harry can’t help but grin too. “Louis Tomlinson, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Louis says, wiping at his eyes, smile as big as Harry’s ever seen it. He drags Harry to his feet and their lips meet tenderly, for the first time as an engaged couple. Harry laughs through his own tears as he pulls Louis’s ring out of the box.

“I um, I know you’re not into wearing jewelry. I got a matching one for me too so one of us wouldn’t feel left out. So you don’t have to wear yours.”

“I see how it is,” Louis teases. “Put mine on me,” Louis says, extending his hand. Harry slides the cool metal ring onto Louis’s left ring finger, obscuring the 2 of his ‘28’ knuckle tattoo. Then he grins. Louis’s worn Harry’s rings before, usually to get a rise out of him. But unlike Harry’s rings, this one is just his size. Harry might be biased, but he thinks it really suits him. 

Louis flexes his fist. “I could definitely rock this. Let me put yours on you.”

Harry hands the ring box over, and Louis plucks the second ring out, nodding approvingly. “These are gorgeous, darling. Just what I had in mind for you.”

Harry’s jaw drops. “You were planning to propose?”

Louis shrugs. “Thinking about it. Bookmarked a few rings. I was still trying to figure out the perfect proposal.”

Harry’s face falls. “You probably think mine sucked.”

“No!” Louis insists, stretching up to placate him with kisses. “No, it was perfect. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Although I do feel a little bad I ruined the surprise.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says. “It was a last-minute plan, anyway.”

Louis stiffens in his arms.

“I mean, the proposal itself. For today,” Harry rushes to amend. “I’ve been thinking about the marriage bit for a while. But I got the rings yesterday and couldn’t wait any longer.”

Louis’s face lights back up. “So that’s why you said you had to go into the office yesterday! You were picking up the rings.” Harry opens his mouth to correct him, but snaps it shut when Louis continues, “Honestly I was really bloody miffed you chose work over the game. But I get it now.” He pulls Harry into a hug, pressing his lips against his neck. “I love you so much, baby. I can’t wait to marry you.”

Guiltily, Harry squeezes him back extra tight. “Me too, Lou.”

Harry’s coworkers are as excited about his engagement as mostly-single straight men are. They give him a bottle of his favorite tequila, and they all take a midday shot in celebration, then move on. Louis, however, has the pleasure of being excellent mates with his fellow coworkers.

On Tuesday night, after a home-cooked dinner for the first time in days, Louis’s working out the knots in Harry’s lower back, an old injury exacerbated by working in an office job.

“The lads want to take us out to celebrate Friday night,” Louis tells him. “They’re proper excited. This is the first wedding of all of us.”

“I thought Liam was married?” 

Louis shakes his head. “Common law, maybe. Not official.”

“Huh,” Harry says. “He always calls her missus.”

“They don’t really think it’s necessary, I guess. They’ve already got the kid.”

“You want to get married though, yeah?” Harry confirms, turning his neck to look back at Louis.

Louis tickles his sides. “I’m definitely taking advantage of my newly lawful right to matrimony. When we divorce I’m gonna steal all your money. My original plan was murdering you, but that might’ve gotten messy.”

Harry laughs. “Prenup here we come.”

“On second thought,” Louis amends thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll just become a house husband. I’ll stay home all day and online shop, get my hair and nails done.”

“Am I going to come home to a home-cooked meal and a blow job every night?” Harry teases. Louis’s fingers abandon his back and thread through his hair, and he sighs, leaning further into Louis’s body.

“One of the two, anyway,” Louis says, tweaking Harry’s nipple.

“Wish I could be the house husband,” Harry grumbles jokingly.

Louis is silent for long enough that Harry turns his head to look at him.

“You know, you don’t have to do what you do,” Louis says pensively. “No one is asking you to work this hard, especially if you don’t like it.”

“Right,” Harry chuckles.

Louis shifts, shoving at Harry until he scoots over on the sofa so they can face one another. “Seriously. There’s nothing worse than getting up every morning dreading the day. Or losing free time on the weekend. Or coming home late for dinner.”

“But we need to pay our bills,” Harry objects. 

“A proper everyday work-life balance is much more important than being able to afford a fancy holiday once a year,” Louis argues. “Which we haven’t done in ages, by the way.”

“You say that now, but when you can’t afford your expensive tracksuits anymore you’ll be singing a different tune.” 

Louis stares at him like he has three heads. “Are you fucking joking? Yeah, I like nice clothes, and I’ll buy them if I can afford them, but I don’t need them. All I need in life is a decent selection of breakfast cereals, a roof over my head, and you.” He shakes his head ruefully. “You’ve changed, mate. Where’s the Harry who dreamed of fighting for more shelf space for locally sourced produce? Now you just spend your time thinking of ways to con middle-aged ladies into buying the latest wrinkle cream.”

Harry rears back, hurt and offended. Louis can have a sharp tongue when he’s agitated, but it’s rarely directed at Harry. “I wasn’t aware you thought so little of me.”

Louis’s face softens. “It’s not like that. I just want you to be happy. I want us to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Harry insists. “Aren’t you?”

Louis purses his lips. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “I’m happy.”

Harry says nothing more, stewing silently as Louis turns on the television and resumes scratching his fingers over Harry’s scalp as if nothing happened. Louis couldn’t possibly understand the pressure Harry feels. Firstly, he’s been given an opportunity that people his age rarely get with a major corporation. And Louis had relied on him when he took a leap with his mates and opened their musical instrument and lessons shop. Without money from Harry, he’d never have been able to get it off the ground. And now, the business barely makes enough to keep out of the red. Louis has some nerve to suggest that Harry simply leave his career to find something he likes more when there’s so much at stake. Besides, Harry’s not sure he’s good at anything else.

They move on from their little row, like they always do, and have a rather uneventful rest of the week. The latest project Harry’s been working on was greenlighted, so he manages to make it home in time for supper for the next two days, which improves both of their moods. They do the shopping together one night, and enjoy a long walk around the neighborhood together the next.

On Friday, however, the next assignment is delivered to Harry and his team. They opt to have a quick dinner as a group, then get down to business brainstorming so they can hit it hard on Monday. Harry feels like utter shit canceling on Louis and the lads, but as a manager, he simply can’t be the one to be too busy to stay.

“Hi, darling,” Louis singsongs when he picks up. “You on your way home?”

“Uh,” Harry says, rearranging the pens on his desk. “Not exactly. I got caught up in something here.” There’s silence on the other end. “Lou?”

“You mean it’ll just take a few minutes to wrap up, right?” Louis asks, something sharp in his voice. “I can push dinner back an hour, maybe, but Zayn’s leaving early to head up to Bradford in the morning and he didn’t want to be out too late.”

Harry clears his throat. “Actually, not sure I’m going to make dinner at all. We’ve just been slammed with something at the end of the day and the whole team’s got to stay.” 

“So, you’re canceling our engagement party,” Louis says flatly. “All because you don’t have the bollocks to tell your coworkers you already had plans.”

“I’m not canceling the entire thing,” Harry insists, brushing past the insult because, well, he’s not wrong. “I could probably still meet for drinks in a few hours. You guys could do the meal without me.”

“Right,” Louis says. “Celebrating an engagement with one half of the couple. Cool.”

“They’re more your friends than mine, anyway,” Harry says.

“That’s not true,” Louis argues. “You and Niall used to be close. Before you only had time for work.”

Harry can’t really contradict that. “I’m really sorry, Lou.”

Louis sighs. “I’ll just cancel and try to reschedule.”

“Sorry,” Harry says again. “Listen,” Harry wheedles, “I’ll come home in a few hours, and you and me can have a sushi and wine date on the couch. You pick the movie. Yeah?”

He’s met by stilted silence. Then, voice dripping with more disdain that Harry’s ever heard, Louis says, “Sushi and wine, right.”

It takes a split second to get it, but Harry could slap himself for his idiocy. “Shit, sorry babe. It’s just I was speaking to Josh a second ago and he loves sushi, so I must’ve had it on the brain.”

Louis laughs sharply. “Brilliant. You confused your fiance with your coworker. Are you fucking him too?”

Harry feels stunned. “That is not funny. Look, Lou, if I get this done now, I’ll have the whole weekend with you. I won’t have to come in like I did last Saturday.”

“Last Saturday?” Louis repeats. “You said you used work as an excuse to get the rings.”

Harry grimaces. “I didn’t say that  _ exactly,” _ he hedges. “You just made the assumption and I didn’t correct you.”

Louis scoffs. “Actually, stay at work. I changed my mind. I’m going out with my friends tonight. Might as well turn our engagement celebration into a break-up slosher.”

“What?” Harry’s heart drops into his stomach as he feels the color drain from his face. “Louis, it’s just an engagement dinner!”

“It’s more than just the engagement dinner, and you know it,” Louis shouts. “Don’t call me.”

“Louis,” Harry pleads. “You’ve got to–“

The line goes dead.

All Harry can do is blink at the screen of his mobile for several long seconds. His entire body feels numb, floating above him.

Did Louis just break up with him?

There’s a knock on his door. Josh pokes his head in. “Styles? We’ve got everyone in conference room one. Your egg roll is going cold.”

“Yep,” Harry says back, tearing both hands through his hair. “Just a sec.”

Josh frowns. “Everything alright?”

“Dunno,” Harry says, shell shocked. “I might’ve just been dumped.”

Josh nods in understanding. “Ah. Sorry mate. Well, see you in a few.” And he closes the door solidly behind him, leaving Harry blinking in his wake.

Torn, Harry stares dumbly at his desktop. What he should do is leave work immediately and find Louis to talk this through. But he’s got an entire team waiting for him a few doors over.

He rings Louis back. It goes directly to voicemail.

_ Give me two hours and we’ll talk this through,  _ Harry begs via text.  _ I love you so much and we can figure this out _

Then, he races to the conference room to hopefully conduct the fastest meeting of his life.

It’ll be fine, Harry tells himself and hour and forty-five minutes later, as he pulls out of the corporate car park. He was the first to leave, by a long shot probably, but he couldn’t wait any longer.

They’ll talk through this, figure out how to make better use of their private time outside of work. Maybe Harry’ll risk his raise this quarter and use up some of his holiday time. Louis loves to travel. Time away always brings them closer together, even if it’s been a few years since they’ve managed it.

He tries to ring as he’s entering the motorway, then again when he’s twenty minutes away. It rings and rings before going to voicemail, which Harry supposes is better than the call being outright rejected. It’s not totally uncommon for Louis to give the silent treatment when he’s in a strop. 

He composes a text as he takes the exit for their neighborhood.  _ just a few minutes away please let’s discuss this. _ No response. 

Louis’s car is in the drive when he pulls up, but the house is dark. “Lou?” Harry calls as he opens the door. “I’m home!”

He knew Louis wouldn’t be home, but a small part of him hoped that he would stay to talk things through. Harry texts once more as he trudged up the stairs to their bedroom.  _ Where are you? I’ll come join you _

He sighs, flopping onto the bed. Louis just needs a night to cool off. Thankfully, it’s Saturday tomorrow. They have all day to hash it out.

After several minutes of just lying there in the dark bedroom, Harry finally sits up on the edge of the bed to take his clothes off. As he leans over to Louis’s bedside table to flick on the lamp, something catches his eye. Amongst the clutter of notepads, sheet music, and half-empty water bottles, sits Louis’s engagement ring.

Well, fuck.

Harry lies down, buries his head in Louis’s pillow, and cries. But after a while, his sorrow turns to anger. How dare Louis risk breaking them up for good over something like this? It’s not as though Harry had an affair, or is an addict. All he’s doing is working– perhaps more than is ideal, but it’s not the end of the world. Not relationship-ending.

He brings his dinner– leftover takeaway– and a stiff drink, into bed with him. He stretches across the entire surface so, should Louis come groveling home he’d know he isn’t welcome, and queues up a film.

It’s difficult to concentrate. He can see Louis’s days-old engagement ring out the corner of his eye every time he remotely turns his head. Whenever a pair of headlights pass through the curtains, he tenses, hoping it’s Louis coming home early.

It never is. Midnight rolls around with no sign of him, and Harry tries his mobile a few more times as he sheepishly cleans off the bed and tucks himself in on his side, anger dissipated. He sends one final text before he sets it on the bedside table:  _ I’m home when you’re ready. Love you _ . Then, he closes his eyes and prepares for a fitful night of sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry wakes abruptly, spluttering and soaking wet.

“What the fuck?” he roars, as he stumbles out of bed and onto his knees. He knows Louis is angry with him, but waking him like this is just bloody cruel. “Are you fucking kidding me, Lou?”

“Lou?” someone– not Louis– repeats, mirth evident in his voice. “I wasn’t aware the two of ye were beyond formalities.”

Harry sits back on his haunches and uses his shirt to wipe his face.

A shirt he hadn’t been wearing when he went to bed. A curiously scratchy shirt, that feels almost as if it’s made of burlap. He opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings.

He’s in a tent, with grass under his knees. He is, in fact, wearing a khaki-colored blouse, with a tie front closure, and similar-feeling trousers. The ‘bed’ he’d been sleeping on seems to be made of hay on some sort of cot, with a quilt thrown over top.

And Niall, of all people, similarly dressed to himself, is standing over him, smirking and holding a wooden bucket. His hair, longer than Harry’s ever seen him wear it, is pulled back into a ponytail.

Oh. He’s dreaming. But good God, that water wakeup might be the most realistic thing he’s ever experienced whilst unconscious.

“Why did you do that?” Harry demands, pulling the wet shirt over his head and throwing it on the makeshift bed. He may be dreaming, but the water was cold, and he’s shivering.

Niall bends over to dig through a trunk at the end of the bed. He tosses Harry a different shirt, just the same as the last one, and turns his back whilst Harry pulls it over his head. “I didn’t want ye to be late. You stink of sex, as well. Would it pain you terrible to be more discreet?”

Harry sniffs the air. He certainly doesn’t smell fresh. “Late for what?”

Niall stares at him. “The tilt, of course.”

Harry frowns. “The tilt?”

Niall cackles. “Funny one, you. Let’s get on to the yard.” He tosses Harry an apple. Clumsily, Harry misses, and when he bends to pick it up, he sees that he’s still got on his engagement ring, even in his dream.

Niall leads them out of the tent as Harry bites into his apple. They seem to be in some sort of medieval campground. Tents are erected all around them. It smells like horses, and campfire, and sweat. Harry’s always had lucid dreams when he’s stressed, but this is on an entirely different level.

“Tempest’ll be itching for a gallop,” Niall says conversationally as he leads Harry further down the maze of tents. There’s a cacophony of noises as they move, boisterous men, and the clang of metal against metal. It’s a vibrant, detailed dream that feels more like a scene in a movie than anything. “Destrian knocked out that dent in your breastplate whilst you were entertainin’ last night.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Harry rolls his eyes. “I get it. I fucked someone last night.” It’s been ages since he’s had a sex dream about anyone else but Louis, and he feels a twinge of guilt at the thought, even though it’s only the suggestion of sex.

Niall snorts. “Not just any someone.”

Before Harry can inquire further, a portly man with a massive red beard approaches them, arms laden with what looks like armor.

“My Lord,” the man says. “It were an all-night job, but I reckon it’s good as. Alvin ‘ere polished her to sparkling.” He gestures to the young boy, behind him, laden with even more pieces of armor.

“No time for the quintain,” Niall says, suddenly all business. He gestures impatiently at Harry. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know. What am I waiting for?”

“Your exercises. Before we place your armor.”

“Oh,” Harry says. He’s used to the feeling of confusion that comes with dreams, but this is on a wholly separate level. It’s as if he’s acting in a play where he didn’t receive the script. “I’m sure it’s fine. What sport is this?”

Niall’s brows furrow so deep they’re touching. “What’re ye on about? It’s the joust.”

“Jousting,” Harry repeats, panic rising like bile in his throat. “Like in A Knight’s Tale? With the,” he jabs the air, “big stick?”

The boy snorts into his hand and receives a sharp smack to the back of his head.

“The lance, m’ lord,” the blacksmith offers helpfully.

Harry turns away from them, wiping his sweaty palms on his shirt. Logically, he knows that he can’t hurt himself. It’s only a dream. But that doesn’t stop his heart from rabbiting in his chest at the thought of being charged by a man on a horse wielding a lance.

“You look as though you’ve just realized you’re going to lose,” someone calls to him, and if Harry hadn’t recognized the lilt of the voice, he’d certainly have identified the teasing tone. He whirls round to see Louis, approaching lazily on a horse. He’s wearing an outfit similar to Harry’s only his shirt is a deep burgundy color. His hair, like Niall’s, is tied back at the base of his skull in a tiny ponytail. Harry’s never seen him on a horse in real life, but it’s definitely on his wish list now. There’s something indescribably sexy about Louis riding astride a horse, looking effortlessly cool and cocky.

“I think I just might,” Harry calls back. Louis grins, prodding his horse to move closer.

“You’re the one who challenged me, if I recall.”

Even though he knows it’s a dream, it’s so good to see Louis not acting cross with him.

“Was I?” Harry teases back. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to wipe the floor with you, then.” It’s rare that Harry can beat Louis in anything that doesn’t involve brute strength. Harry figures he has the advantage here, and even if he doesn’t, it’s his dream. If he doesn’t like the end results he’ll just change it.

Louis only laughs. “I’ve not heard that saying before, but I like it. Don’t forget about our friendly wager.” Judging by the glint in his eye and the tilt of his brows, the wager they apparently made is less friendly and more dirty. Harry’s body tingles with interest.

Louis nods courteously to the other men, then turns back to Harry. “Best of luck, Sir Styles.”

Harry bows his head. “Same to you, Sir Tomlinson.”

Harry watches him trot away, grinning like an idiot.

“Surprised he can even ride astride, what with the sounds he were making last night,” Niall remarks crudely.

“Niall,” Harry admonishes. The back of his neck feels hot as the blacksmith and his apprentice suddenly busy themselves with the armor at their feet.

Niall rolls his eyes. “My apologies. Must’ve misheard the screams of pleasure.”

Harry gives him the finger. Niall blinks at him, unimpressed. “Shall we, then?”

They begin by putting on the many complicated layers of armor. It’s heavier than Harry imagined it to be, not that he’s spent much time wondering what a full set of armor might weigh on his body. It’s also hot. He’s sweating before his horse– who’s also wearing protective metal– is brought to him. Also, he’s really got to piss. The impossibility of removing the armor to do so aside, he’ll need to rouse himself from this dream soon to use the toilet, or he’ll be lying in a soiled bed.

He’s handed his helmet, and then he and Niall walk towards what looks like an outdoor wooden stadium. Harry’s ears ring as he takes in the sheer amount of people packed into the seats. Amongst the browns, beiges, and reds in the stands, a shock of purple catches his eye. A woman wearing a bright purple gown, with golden hair, standing still in a sea of chanting fans, stares back at him. For a long moment, they stare at one another, until Niall shoves him by way of leading him to his spot at the side of the field.

Niall and Louis’s herald meet in the middle of the field to announce them. If it weren’t for the metal armor against his chest, he swears his heart would beat right out of his body. Across the way, Louis, looking larger than life in his own armor, winks at him.

Suddenly, it’s time. Harry’s never even been on a horse, unless the pony he rode at a children’s petting zoo when he was five counts. They’re much larger in real life than they look in picture books or on television. It takes him at least three tries to figure out how to swing his leg up and over the horse, even with Niall’s assistance. The crowd is cheering all around him, and he’s handed a heavy wooden lance. It’s longer in real life than it looks in movies, and despite the majority of the weight being on the back end, Harry has to work hard to keep the tip from dipping toward the ground.

He feels claustrophobic in his helmet, and the horse moves impatiently under him. He panics.

“Niall,” he shouts over the noise. “Niall, I can’t do this. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Are you fucking mad?” Niall shouts back. “We haven’t got time for this!”

“No!” Harry cries. “I can’t!”

Niall smacks him on the thigh, futilely. “Pull yourself together, lad! You’ve got to get the purse!”

The horse whinnies and jerks. Harry yelps. “I don’t care about the money! It’s all fake anyway.”

“Do it for your pride, then!” Niall bellows, as horns sound. Across the way, Louis kicks his horse forward.

Competitive instinct must take over then. That, or his subconsciousness takes control, because, without his knowledge or consent, his foot acts on its own accord, urging the horse into a gallop. And then he and Louis are hurtling toward one another, lances raised. Although Harry knows he’s moving quickly, everything seems to slow to a crawl. He raises his lance just as Louis does, blood pounding in his ears. The lance feels familiar, yet foreign in his hands, almost as if he’s done this before, but he doesn’t quite recall how. It’s a bit like knowing you’ve seen a film, but being unable to recall the details of the plot. Because of this sensation, he doesn't get his aim right. His lance barely grazes the side of Louis’s chest plate.

Louis, however, doesn’t have that problem. Harry scarcely has time to see where his lance made contact before his head is snapping back from the force of a direct hit to the face. Bits of splintered wood rain down on him as he teeters, dazed, on the back of his horse. What little he can see out of his helmet is quickly overtaken by black dots.

He falls, hard, landing on his side. Everything hurts, but especially his head. It feels like his throbbing brain is threatening to escape out his ears, and there’s no possible way it’s not oozing brain matter at this very moment.

Someone wrestles his dented helmet off, and he gasps for breath and blinks furiously in an attempt to stay conscious.

“You great bloody imbecile!” Niall is chastising him, even as he’s slapping him rapidly on the cheeks. “As if you’d never ridden in your life!”

“Told you,” Harry manages, before his eyes roll back in his head. Just before he loses consciousness, he sees Louis, face contorted in concern. He tries to lift his arm to touch him, but everything goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry wakes when he rolls over in bed, and promptly falls flat on his face.

He groans loudly and flops onto his back, opening his eyes. He’s alone, in a small wood-lined room, more hardwood under his back. There’s a writing desk stacked with scrolls in the corner, and the hammock that he apparently just rolled out of directly overhead. A large metal tub sits in the middle of the room, clearly used with little frequency if his own stench is anything to go by. As he lies there, the ground gently rocks from side to side.

A boat. He’s on a boat. He’s still trapped in a lucid dream.

He whines loudly in frustration, rubbing both his hands over his face. But the sensation is alarmingly different. Panicked, he pulls his hands up to inspect them.

His right arm is fine. Covered in tattoos, scars both fresh and old, and with a layer of filth over extremely tan skin. His left arm looks much the same– up to his fingers.

Harry gasps as he inspects the place where his left pinky and ring finger once were. The area has a long, raised scar across the knuckles of his palm, pulling the skin taut. The scar tissue isn’t nearly as tanned as the rest of him. He wriggles his fingers, both horrified and fascinated by the phantom sensation of fingers lost. It feels so real. His engagement ring gleams up at him from its new place on his middle finger. Harry tugs at it, but it doesn't budge.

“Cap’n Styles?” The call is punctuated by a sharp rap on the door. “Yer needed on deck.”

Harry closes his eyes stubbornly. He’s strangely exhausted, for someone who’s asleep, and it almost feels as though he’s hungover. “No.”

The person on the other side of the door coughs awkwardly. “May I enter?”

Harry groans. “I suppose.”

The door creaks open, then closed again.

Harry cranes his neck to look. “Oh. Hey, Liam.” The Liam in his dream is just as tan as he is, with a full beard and a pierced ear. He’s wearing what can only be described as rags.

“Alright, Cap?” Liam asks, concern etched in his forehead. “You fall out of bed again?”

“Apparently so,” Harry muses. “I’m also missing two fingers, did you know?”

Liam laughs. “I did at that.” He helps heave Harry to his feet. “Don’t mean to rush you, Cap, but we’ve got a ship coming up fast from the east.”

Liam looks at him expectantly.

“Oh,” Harry says, after a beat. “Is that bad?”

Liam nods grimly. “It’s the Royal Navy.”

“Oh,” Harry says again. “That is bad. Cuz we’re pirates.”

Liam gives him a wary once over. “You’re still pissed, aren't ya?” He makes to move toward the glass cabinet, where decanters of liquor can be seen. “Hair of the dog?”

“No,” Harry denies, then amends, “Actually, maybe.”

Liam nods in acquiescence, dutifully moving to pour a drink. He glances over his shoulder when Harry doesn’t move.

“Well, you going to get dressed?”

Harry looks around the room. There’s a trunk, with a bit of fabric peeking out of it. And there’s a red coat hanging on a coat hook, next to a faded black three-point hat. Worn black boots rest on the ground.

It’s as piratey as it gets.

The trousers he’s wearing will have to do. But as he tugs on his boots he comes to an unfortunate realization.

“Liam? I’ve got to wee.”

Liam hands him a dirty glass full of amber liquid. “Don’t let me stop you, mate.”

Harry crosses his legs. “Haven’t you ever dreamed you were having a wee and then woke up wetting yourself?”

Liam shrugs. “Well, yes. However, you aren’t sleeping.”

“I am, though,” Harry insists. “I’m sleeping in my real life. This is my dream.”

Liam snorts. “Cap, you’re drunker than I thought. Here. Drink this and take a leak off the deck. Give them officers a view.”

“I can’t,” Harry gasps. “I’ll wet myself.”

Liam shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time, would it? Mind, we won’t be at port for a few hours yet. You’ll be rather ripe by then.” He pushes Harry toward the door. “Come now, look sharp. The Royal Navy waits for no one, least of all pirates.”

Quickly, Harry downs his drink, grimacing at the taste. He leaves the glass on the desk and follows Liam out the door.

The sun is hot against his skin, and the wind whips his hair into his face and nearly takes his hat straight off his head. He secures it more tightly round his ears and spits his hair out of his mouth. The air tastes salty. It’s a gorgeous day, and the boat bustles with activity, about a dozen pirates all about. It’s fantastical, almost as if he’s been deposited onto a real-life pirate ship.

A man jumps down from somewhere above them. He’s holding an ornate telescope in his hands. Harry gazes upwards and sees a crows nest, twenty feet into the sky.

“They’ll be upon us within the hour, Captain,” the man, white beard down to his chest and missing two front teeth, says. “They be wavin’ a white flag.”

Harry takes the telescope offered to him and spends an inordinate amount of time lining it up properly. The boat behind them is pretty from far away, but spectacular up close, with its pristine, billowing white sails.

“We haven’t got near enough ammo,” Liam muses. “We’ve only got the jurry mast to limp along as it is until we get to port. We can’t take ‘em.”

Beardy hums in agreement. “Aye, not without heavy damage.”

“Wait,” Harry says. “Didn’t you say they’re waving a white flag?”

“Aye,” Beardy says again. “Don’t change the fact they’re blue coats.”

“Well, let’s see what they want,” Harry says.

The men stare at him.

“You said they’ll be upon us within the hour,” Harry reasons. “So our two choices are to fight them, or to see what they want. What’s the worst that could happen were we to meet them?”

“We’re hanged for our crimes,” Beardy says flatly.

“Nothings going to happen,” Harry dismisses. It can’t be anything worse than being knocked off of your own horse with a blow to the head by your own fiance (ex-fiance?). “There’s got to be some sort of pirate code about white flags.”

“Aye, there is, o’ course,” Liam says, looking at Harry funnily. “But Captain, you hate the Navy more than any of us.”

“Why?” Harry wonders.

“Might have summat to do with the desertin’,“ Beardy scoffs.

“Deserting?” Harry repeats incredulously. “I deserted from the Royal Navy?”

Beardy and Liam both laugh, as if Harry’s made a funny joke, and neither answer his question.

“Well,” Liam says after a beat of awkward silence. “If we’re going to get slaughtered anyhow, what’s the harm in respecting the code?”

Beardy, less than enthused, grumbles out, “So long as we don’t change course. We’re meant to be in Salé tonight, and I’m in need of company.”

Liam laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I could use some company tonight myself.”

“You sleep with prostitutes?” Harry demands, shocked. The Liam he knows would be appalled at the mere thought.

Liam chortles. “Don’t be actin’ all high and mighty, Captain. For someone so good looking you’d think you wouldn’t pick them so rough.”

“Ain’t sure the last one even had tits,” Beardy chimes in.

Harry flushes. “Well, maybe for me it’s about personality.”

Liam and Beardy roar with laughter.

Liam wipes tears from his eye. “Anyway, you’d best call the orders, Captain.”

Harry starts. “Oh. Sure.” He takes a deep breath and bellows, “We meet the Navy upon the hour! Arr!”

There’s a beat of stunned silence, followed by a chorus of “Aye, Captain”.

Liam steers Harry away from a bewildered Beardy. “Captain, I say this with respect as your quartermaster. But you need to sleep it off.”

“Do pirates not say ‘arr’?” Harry asks, feeling very stupid. “They do it in all the films.”

“Take a caulk,” Liam suggests gently, pushing him toward the Captain’s quarters they recently emerged from. “We’ll need you tip-top to face the bluecoats.”

“A what?”

Liam frowns. “Go and have a kip.”

“I’m not tired,” Harry objects, which is both entirely untrue, and makes very little sense, considering the circumstances. He’s a bit worried that should he fall asleep in his dream, he’ll wake up and miss all the action that’s sure to come. There’s an unexplainable sense of anticipation for what’s about to happen. “How about you show me round the ship? Pretend as I’ve never been on one before. It’ll be like… a test. To see if you’re doing your job correctly.”

Liam considers this suspiciously. “Alright,” he says finally. And so, the next hour is spent trailing behind Liam as he speaks lovingly of the ship that he calls home, the Black Rose. It becomes clear to Harry that much of what he’d learned about pirates from fiction and films was wrong, at least according to his altered reality. Liam, as quartermaster, appears to hold just as much authority as Harry, as evidenced by the way he orders people about without so much as a glance in Harry’s direction.

Eventually, Harry relents to his body’s urges and has a wee, running the risk of waking in a wet bed. It takes him ages to untie his trousers when he’s used to only having to zip. It’s honestly liberating, urinating over the side of a pirate ship into the open ocean.

If he didn’t already know he was dreaming, he’d be surprised he wasn’t seasick in the slightest. His only other experience on a large boat occurred as a teenager on a river cruise with his family. He was terribly ill the entire time and never quite got his sea legs. But he feels almost like a natural.

In fact, it feels crazy, but given the level of detail and the utter ‘realness’ of the taste of the ocean, the feel of the ship under his hands and feet– he could almost convince himself this is real.

But that would be mental.

The large naval ship slowly approaches, until it threatens to overtake them. The crew gathers suspiciously on the deck to watch as it pulls up beside them.

The naval officers wear long dark blue coats, and hilarious white wigs on their heads below their uniform caps. It’s got to be unbearably sweaty. They, too, are standing round looking apprehensive. The Captain of their ship gestures off into the distance. Small, black rock islands dot the horizon, the nearest only a thousand yards away.

“What’s he getting at?” Harry wonders.

“Neutral meeting place,” Liam says matter-of-factly. “Best for all parties.”

“Right,” Harry agrees, but his attention has been caught by one of the men on the naval boat. He’s got a curl loose from his white wig, and he rearranges it with the delicate flick of his ring and pinky finger. He’s got a sharp jawline, and even from this distance, piercing blue eyes.

“Louis,” Harry breathes. He lifts his hand in a wave– the hand that has two missing fingers– then quickly hides it behind his back. Louis acknowledges him with a tight nod, but Harry swears he sees recognition in his eyes.

Harry can’t keep his eyes off of him as each boat prepares a rowboat. Louis appears to be the designated spokesperson, even though his regalia doesn’t indicate he’s a captain. Louis swings his legs over the side of the ship and drops gracefully into the awaiting rowboat.

Just as Harry’s prepared to swing his own leg over into the rowboat, Liam pulls him into his chest. “We’ve got our eyes peeled,” he says lowly. “Just give the signal.” He slides something cold and hard into the back waistband of his trousers. “Just in case, Cap.”

Harry has goosebumps with anticipation as he and a crew member are slowly lowered into the water. Across from him, Louis’s eyes are loaded as they watch one another.

It feels like ages for the rowboat to finally touch the sand at the small, rocky meeting place. Harry’s frustrated he can’t simply fast forward this part until he has Louis in his arms again. Even though it’s only a dream, his heart aches for him, as if they’ve spent a lifetime apart rather than a matter of hours in the real world.

“Look sharp, Captain,” the rower advises as Harry steps out of the boat and into calf-deep water. The tiny rock island has only got enough room on its pebble beach for the two rowboats to sit flush against one another. Louis splashes down next to them, and together they stride silently up to the rocky shore.

Louis glances behind them, to where the two men who’d rowed them to shore are staring openly. “Captain Styles.”

Harry grins. “Lou.”

Louis’s eyes go wide, and dart once again toward their company. “Come away from the others,” he suggests under his breath, and leads the way further up the rocky cliffside.

Eventually, they stop, when the terrain becomes too rugged to walk comfortably, and so only the very tops of their heads are visible to the crew that is likely watching from the ships.

Louis’s eyes shine when he turns back to face him. “My God, I can’t believe it’s you. You look–“ he cuts himself off, eyes trailing from top to toe. “–like a pirate.”

Harry laughs. “I was as shocked as you. And you look ridiculous in that wig.”

Louis grins sheepishly, then tugs it off his head. His hair is cropped close to his head and lighter in color than usual, the way it would get during their first summer out of uni when they’d spent every day outdoors. “Seven years and those are the first words you say to me.”

Harry’s jaw drops. “Seven years? Has it been that long?”

Louis’s face falls. “Really?” he asks. “I’ve counted every second you’ve been away and you can’t even recall them?”

Harry takes a step forward. “No. No, I didn’t mean it like that. Of course, I’ve missed you, Lou.”

Louis’s shoulders drop. He drops his hat and wig onto the ground and rubs his palms down his face. “I’m overcome,” he says. “I didn’t think this moment would come. Years of chasing you down and I don’t know what to say.”

“Come here,” Harry urges, opening his arms. He doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation his subconsciousness has created, but he feels it in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Louis takes a tentative step forward, and Harry fills in the rest, pulling Louis into his chest. Louis smells of sweat, sea, and tobacco.

“I’m so angry,” Louis spits into Harry’s chest, even as he winds his arms round Harry’s middle. “I don’t think I can ever forgive you.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says into Louis’s shoulder.

“You left me,” Louis accuses. Hot tears wet the fabric of Harry’s shirt. “Did you think I wouldn’t understand?”

“I love you.” It’s the only thing he knows to say. He can’t possibly fathom this Harry’s reasons for leaving Louis behind. “I’m here now.”

Louis raises his chin, and they knock foreheads, breathing one another in. Harry brings a hand up to caress Louis’s cheek. There’s only a hint of stubble, but it feels the way it always has beneath his fingertips.

Louis pulls his hand away to examine it.

“Yeah,” Harry says, chuckling sheepishly. “I’m a little bit lighter on that side.”

“Does it hurt?” Louis asks, trailing his finger along the raised scar along the knuckles.

“Aches a bit,” Harry says.

“Good,” Louis sniffs dismissively, but his mouth tugs in mirth. Harry can’t help but laugh out loud. He can’t stop himself when he leans down to steal a kiss either. Louis jerks back in surprise, but his eyes soften almost immediately, and he tilts his chin to return the kiss.

Pirate cleanliness isn’t exactly top-notch, and Harry’s mouth surely tastes like hot, rotten fish, but Louis opens his mouth to him anyway, and their tongues tangle desperately. Louis kisses like he’s longed for this for years, like he never wants to come up for air. Carefully, Harry backs him up until his back hits a rock, so they can feel their bodies against one another. Louis moans in pleasure, trailing his hands from Harry’s chest and round his waist. And then he freezes.

“What?” Harry murmurs, leaning down to capture Louis’s lips again. Louis shoves him, hard enough for Harry to stumble backward.

“You’re armed,” Louis accuses.

Harry frowns. “Oh!” The revolver Liam had thrust down his trousers. He reaches behind him and pulls it out. “This?”

Louis shouts, hand flying to his empty belt on instinct. “Stay back.” He darts away from the rock he’d been up against, eyes on the gun.

Harry drops it like a hot coal. “Lou,” he reasons. “Louis, I would never hurt you.”

Louis takes another step back, eyes hot. “But you thought I would harm you?”

“No!” Harry insists. “Liam gave it to me as I was getting in the rowboat. I didn’t know, I’m in way over my head here!”

“I could give the signal, you know,” Louis spits. “My crew is waiting with bated breath for a reason to attack.”

“Don’t do that,” Harry urges, extending his arms and stepping even further away from the revolver on the ground. “It was a mistake. Come here.”

Louis scoffs. He darts forward to retrieve his wig and cap, then stands quickly and backtracks, glancing behind himself as he goes, to keep his footing on the rocks as he makes his way back to the tiny shore. Harry follows him, at a loss.

Once they’re back in view of the awaiting men, Louis digs his hand into his coat and thrusts a letter out toward Harry. “My official business here.”

Harry takes it from him, utterly perplexed. His own name is written in slanting cursive on the front.

“We did this as a favor to your father,” Louis tells him loudly, voice cold. “The next time you and your crew are apprehended, you’ll not be pardoned. Don’t let your mother see you hanged.” He turns toward the rowboat, but hesitates. “You know,” he says, so quietly Harry can hardly hear him over the waves. “I’d have gone with you. I’d have deserted for you. But you didn’t even bother to ask.”

And then he turns on his heel and splashes his way toward the rowboat, without a backward glance, leaving Harry standing on a tiny rocky beach, dumbfounded.

“What the fuck?” He says aloud. A few yards away, the crew member who’d towed him to shore shrugs, equally in the dark.

Too late, his body and mind finish processing what’s just happened– that somehow, he’s betrayed the man he loves and left him alone for nearly a decade. “Louis!” He screams. “Stop!” He rushes out into the waves, and stumbles, falling onto his knees.

Already twenty feet out into the open ocean, Louis doesn’t even turn his head.

“Captain!” There’s a hand on his elbow. Harry turns wildly to see the pirate who’d towed him attempting to pull him back to his feet.

He doesn’t want to do this any longer.

He swats away the helping hand and pinches his own arm as hard as he can. When that doesn’t work, he slaps himself in the face. Still, he stays where he is.

“Hit me,” Harry demands the crew member. “I need to wake up.”

The man blinks at him. “Beg yer pardon, Cap?”

“Hit me!” Harry cries. “Hard as you can, that’s an order!” The man hesitates, raising his fist but unable to follow through. “Do it!” Harry roars.

Two minutes later, and he’s being rowed back to the boat, with a throbbing shiner, a dark mood, and a damp letter in his hand.

“Were that an old mate, then?” The other pirate asks after several beats of long silence.

Harry glares at him. “Something like that.”

The man juts out his chin. “Don’ look at me like that. You asked to be walloped, Cap.”

Harry ignores him, instead ripping open the letter in his hands. The ink has smudged from wetness in some places, and the cursive is old fashioned and difficult to make out.

_My darling Harry,_

_I’ve nearly given up hope that any of my letters will make their way to you. Your old friend, Lieutenant Tomlinson, has assured me that he will move heaven and earth to help comfort an old woman’s broken heart. He misses you so. The two of you were thick as thieves during school. Some days I believe he is more heartbroken than I at the loss of you. He’s made such a fine career for himself. I confess it pains me to see him taking the same path you might have walked, had you not defiled the family name for the sake of piracy._

_If I had known that morning that I would never lay eyes on you again, I would not have insisted that you go through with the marriage. Your father and I have only ever wanted what’s best for you and your future. If it is any consolation to you, Miss Thatcher, despite being ruined by your leaving, has become Mrs. Hume now, and is a mother twice over._

_Your father will never forgive you for what you’ve done, but he’s granted your broken-hearted mother one final favor of passing along this letter, should you receive it. There is no unhappiness like that of a mother who will never again see her child alive._

_I pray every night for your safety and hope that you know how very much you are loved._

_Your Mother_

The crew openly stare at him, some wary, all curious, when he finally sets foot back on the boat.

“Captain?” Liam ventures, putting a careful arm on Harry’s shoulder. “You alright? That looked… personal.”

“He’s, uh... an old friend,” Harry says, flustered. “I need to lie down.”

“If we set sail now, we’re on course to hit Salé by nightfall,” Beardy butts in, clearly keen to get his dick sucked by a lady of the night.

“Sure,” Harry says. “Why not? What the fuck does it matter, anyway?” He starts forward, then stops short. “Which side is my cabin on again?”

Patiently, Liam leads him away, but Harry doesn’t miss the wide-eyed ‘what the fuck’ look he gives the remainder of the mingling crew.

“Did I ever tell you the reason I deserted?” Harry asks Liam as soon as they’re shut away into the Captain’s quarters. Harry heads for the hammock, whilst Liam makes a beeline for the liquor cabinet.

“No,” Liam says. “Mind, you keep to yourself most often. Only things that get you alight are the open ocean and a stiff drink.”

“Right,” Harry says bitterly. So, he’s a functioning alcoholic. That explains the headache he’s nursed most of the day.

“Here.” Liam hands him a goblet. “Careful, now.”

Harry sighs, and takes a sip. It’s an awkward angle, reclining in the hammock whilst drinking. “You’re a good quartermaster, Liam.”

Liam ducks his head. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll leave you be for a spell. A hot meal on dry land’ll do you a world of good.”

Left alone to his thoughts, Harry closes his eyes.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m dreaming. It feels real, but I’m dreaming. I’m projecting what happened in real life into this dream and I’m going to wake up… now!”

He’s still in the hammock.

And he’s still in the hammock, hours later, when the cheerful noises of the crew become too loud to ignore. He tips gracelessly out of bed and leaves the room, to find that they’re slowly moving into port. The sky is pink, the air is warm and salty, and the town, Salé, Beardy had called it, looks like a scene from a postcard, or an oil painting.

Harry stands there uselessly whilst the crew move about him, preparing the ship for docking. Thankfully, he’s mostly ignored. He’s not sure if that’s Liam’s doing or not, but he’s beginning to wonder what sort of Captain he is, that he could be this unneeded.

An hour later, and he’s joining about a dozen other pirates in disembarking. Their destination is a rowdy pub which, apparently, they’ve frequented before. The place smells like ale, meat, and smoke, and it’s difficult to think over the noise. There are barmaids everywhere, the first women Harry has seen all day. They have full skirts and painted faces, and many of them show off their ample cleavage.

Harry stays on the edge of their party, taking everything in. Once again, it’s like he’s in the set of a movie with incredible attention to detail, right down to the smells and flavors. He gladly accepts the dark ale that’s set in front of him, even though he prefers lighter beers. And the whole roasted chicken that comes next is deliciously greasy. He didn’t know how hungry he was until now.

A barmaid comes round to refill drinks. Harry holds his palm over the top of his mug. “No more, thanks.”

The barmaid nods in acknowledgment, skirt swishing as she turns to move on. The bright purple of her bangles catches Harry’s eye.

“Wait,” he says, reaching out to stop her.

The woman, blonde hair plaited away from her face, smiles down at him. “Did you need anything else?”

“I know you,” Harry stammers. “I know you– you’re that woman who sold me the rings.”

“Yes,” the woman agrees simply. “Hello, Harry.”

“You were in my other dream, in the stands.”

The woman nods. “I was there, and I am here.”

Harry frowns. “But why?”

The woman glances around them. “Follow me.”

Harry’s crew members hoot and holler, and Liam even gives his back a hearty slap, as he gets up off the bench and follows the woman. She leads him through swinging doors to a kitchen, and then out a side door and into an alley.

Harry can’t explain it, but he’s certain this woman has something to do with whatever is happening to him. “Why are you here?” he demands. “Why am I dreaming about you? Why can’t I wake up?”

The woman blinks at him. “Because you’re not dreaming.”

Harry sputters in weak objection. “But– but that’s impossible. I’m not– time travel, or whatever this is, it’s not real!”

The woman snorts. “Time travel.”

Harry throws up his hands. “You say I’m not dreaming! What else could this be, some sort of alternate reality?”

The woman tips her head in consideration. “Closer. We all live many lives, on every plane. Some of us remember our other lives, fleetingly, be it in their unfounded fear of tightly collared shirts, or their keen interest in specific historical eras. Most of us haven’t the sight beyond what is directly in front of or behind us. And very, very few of us are given the opportunity to experience those lives in the flesh.”

Harry stares, open-mouthed. “What the fuck?”

The woman shrugs. “Believe it, or don’t. You’re on the journey regardless.”

Harry stares at her. It’s absolutely mental. Completely insane. But, at the same time, it makes a bit of sense. He’s never dreamed quite like this before, in such startling detail. He’s always been able to wake himself when he wanted to. Always been able to subtly manipulate his dreams.

The woman seems to sense his train of thoughts. “Do you feel the ache in your hand?” she asks him, gesturing to his missing fingers. “Do you feel the alcohol in your blood? The food in your belly?”

Slowly, reluctantly, Harry nods.

The woman smirks. “And did you feel the pain of being hit in the face with a lance?”

Harry rolls his eyes. The tips of his ears burn. “Yeah, I felt it.” He frowns, thinking of the events of today, and how devastating they’ve been. “So you’re saying this version of me left his family and fucked over his career and let Louis think he didn’t want him, all because of some bird?”

The woman shakes her head. “You did that,” she says. “You are you. You are the same person, with the same mind, under a different set of circumstances. You made these decisions.”

“No.” Harry shakes his head fervently. “That can’t be right. I wouldn’t have done that!”

The woman shrugs. “Well, you did.”

Harry wrenches his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth between the two buildings. “I’ve got to make this right. I’ve got to find Louis.”

“I don’t think that’s likely,” the woman muses.

Harry stops short. “Why not?”

“You won’t be here long enough to make an impact. Only long enough to get a taste.”

Harry snorts bitterly. “Pretty sure I epically fucked everything up a few hours ago when I let Louis go.”

The woman shrugs. “In my experience, things work out the way they’re meant to work out.”

“So, you’ve done this to others, then,” Harry accuses.

The woman holds up her palms, eyes wide. “I’m only the messenger.”

“Right,” Harry drawls. “Well, any other nuggets of knowledge you wish to bestow upon me before I go drown my feelings in alcohol?” He totally gets why this version of him is an alcoholic now. “When do I get to go home? Do I get to go home?”

The woman pats him on the shoulder as she passes by him. “All in good time.”

Harry rests his forehead against the cool brick of the building. “Fuck. What have I done?” He can’t stop picturing Louis’s devastated face as he backed away from him, or the heartbreak in every word of his mother’s letter. Could he really be this person?

And honestly, alternate universes? Past lives? Maybe there was a hallucinogen in his nightcap.

Dazed, he eventually makes his way back inside, where the mood has shifted from merry to rowdy. They all cheer when Harry reemerges, gesturing lewdly and cracking jokes about his stamina. Thankfully, the woman seems to have disappeared, having apparently served her purpose.

“You know,” Harry shouts in Liam’s ear over the cacophony of noise, “I think I’ll head back to the ship. Get a bit of shut-eye.”

“Are you sure, mate?” he yells. “Plenty more company where that came from!”

Harry grimaces. He’ll never be able to look at Liam the same again. If he ever gets home. “No, I’m good.”

Liam shrugs. “Suit yourself. See you in the morning. Well–” he amends with a laugh, “– early afternoon, anyway!”

After exiting the pub, Harry meanders the streets for nearly an hour, unsure exactly which way to go. The sun has long since set, and there aren’t nearly enough torches or lanterns to light the way. The sheer number and size of the docked ships is impressive– Harry almost wishes he were in a better state to take it all in.

There’s got to be a reason– should all of this nonsense about spending time in his alternate lives be true– that he would have abandoned his family and Louis. Frankly, he’s a bit offended that his family and his partner would even believe he was capable of such a thing without good reason.

Eventually, he manages to find the ship. His ship, of which he is apparently Captain. The boat is completely dark, and he stumbles as he kicks his legs over and falls on his arse onto the deck. Thankfully, no one is around to see him. He’s embarrassed himself enough today.

He lights a candle on his desk inside his quarters. The flicker casts eerie shadows along the walls as the ship rocks gently from side to side. Harry takes the letter he’d been given out of his breast pocket to read again. He can’t recall what his mum’s handwriting looks like, but he knows it doesn’t look like this.

He snorts aloud, annoyed that he’s even considering taking the woman from the flea market’s words seriously. His hands shake as he re-folds the letter. He needs a drink.

He takes a few quick gulps directly from the decanter, then carefully maneuvers himself into his hammock. The day’s events, combined with the sun and the alcohol, have left him exhausted beyond measure– which, the tiny voice in his head reminds him, shouldn’t be possible if he were currently asleep.

“I’ll do better next time,” he promises the empty room, as his lids close on their own accord. If there is a next time.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry wakes slowly, sunlight hot on his face, as the sounds of clinking metal and the rustling of fabric rouse him.

“Lou?” Harry calls sleepily. It’s Saturday. Louis will be up to get to football.

“It’s only me, Your Majesty.”

Harry jolts upright. 

He’s in a large ornate four-poster with heavy velvet drapes. The bedroom itself is filled with opulent furnishings of navy and gold, and the gold walls and high ceilings glitter in the sunlight coming from the massive windows to his right. He may be some time in the past, but at least he appears to be rich. Small victories, anyway. Still, he groans in agitation. Of course, he’s not back home. Of course, everything the woman had said to him is true. He just wants to go home.

The man who addressed him comes round the corner of the bed, and Harry quickly rolls over onto his stomach to wipe his face roughly against the pillowcase, quelling his sudden frustrated tears.

When he pulls himself together and looks up, the man stands at the end of the bed, hands clasped behind his back. He’s wearing a full three-piece suit, with knee cropped trousers and buckle shoes. Harry really wishes he’d taken more interest in history at school. 

“I’m very sorry to wake you. The Queen Consort has requested that you breakfast with her this morning, Your Majesty.” 

“Queen Consort?” Harry repeats dumbly.

The man nods. “Your mother.”

Harry’s jaw drops in surprise. His mother. He hasn’t seen his mum since Christmas. That fact alone makes him feel guilty, but coupled with the knowledge of his actions in his alleged ‘past life’, and the guilt is twofold. “Alright.” He is curious if he’s honest. What will she be like? Will she look the same? Act the same?

But wait. Queen Consort. “That makes me the…” King. He’s the fucking King.

And if he’s King, what is Louis? 

“I’ve lain out a few options for you, Your Majesty,” his valet calls from the adjoining room. “After breakfast, you’ve a meeting with the Lord Chancellor regarding the Curia Regis.”

Oh. Oh, no.

“No,” Harry says aloud. “I’ll uh, that’ll need to be rescheduled.”

There's an abrupt silence, and then the valet pokes his head back into the room.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

Harry clears his throat. “I can’t meet with the Lord Chancellor today.” He’d make an utter fool of himself, surely. He recalls the woman’s words about making minimal impact whilst he’s ‘traveling’, but he simply can’t take that chance again. He’s already sincerely fucked everything up as a pirate. He couldn’t possibly make lasting decisions for an entire country.

“You… are canceling your visit with the Lord Chancellor,” the valet repeats, clearly at a loss. “Are you unwell?”

“Yes,” Harry lies, tugging on his bottom lip, a mostly unconscious habit when he’s in uncomfortable situations. He doesn’t like not rising to challenges set by himself or others. But at the same time, he argues with himself stubbornly, he’s also only ‘here’ for a day. At least, that’s been the pattern thus far. And this may very well be his only chance to explore a real, functioning sometime-in-the-past castle. No tour guide required, nothing off-limits. He intends to take full advantage. “I’ve got a headache. And my stomach hurts.”

Okay, that second one isn’t a total lie. He’s not sure if he’s merely hungry, or he’s just got a sour tummy, but he isn’t feeling top-notch. God, he hopes there’s indoor plumbing.

“Shall I call for the Royal Doctor?” the valet asks, genuine concern etched across his face. “This is quite unlike you, if I may be bold enough to say.”

“No need for the doctor, I don’t think,” Harry says, waving away his worry. “Perhaps just… a trip to the toilet? And a bit of privacy?”

The other man bows. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Harry is pleased to see that the man fully leaves the bedchamber, slipping out a side door that nearly blends perfectly into the wall. He’s even more pleased when, after roaming the bedroom and attached sitting room, he finds a wood-paneled water closet with a toilet. There’s also a solid gold clawfoot tub in the room, of which Harry hopes to try before he wakes up in a new place and time.

He gets the first glimpse of himself in this life when he pulls up his sleeping robe.

“Holy shit,” Harry breathes aloud. “I’m fat!”

It’s not a terrifying amount of weight, but his body is certainly much softer than how he left it, worryingly so in the gut and pectoral regions. He pokes at a pec and watches it jiggle, disgusted yet entranced by the movement.

He can’t help but think of Louis, and how he feels about Harry’s body. Harry wouldn’t go so far as to call Louis vain, but he has always enjoyed and complemented Harry on his fitness. Does Louis love this decidedly less buff version of Harry? Is he even here?

The rest of Harry looks largely the same. He’s got the same haircut as before, anyway, and his engagement ring to Louis is back on his– mercifully five-fingered- left hand. He hasn’t got any of his tattoos, which is possibly even more startling than the beer belly.

Harry finishes his business in the toilet, and upon exiting, is greeted by the same valet, who leads him to a fantastical dressing room filled with suits and gowns of every color. His eyes are immediately drawn to a heavy, powder blue suit jacket with gold stitching.

“This one,” Harry says decidedly, ignoring the brown and mustard-colored selections laid out on the chaise. “Please.”

The valet stammers. “But, Majesty, that’s a formal suit.”

“Oh,” Harry says. Then he shrugs. What’s one day not following protocol? “Well, that’s the one I like. It’s the prettiest. I promise, tomorrow I’ll go back to the old, boring way.”

His valet, looking like he’s swallowed a lemon, does not object further as he takes down the garment.

Harry could get used to this King thing.

He scrutinizes himself in the gilded mirror hung on the opposite wall as he’s dressed. For having everything one could want as King, Harry really should fire his tailor. The trousers are far too tight around his middle, creating an even more distinct muffin top. The shirt is a bit too short in the torso, but the frills along the chest conceal him nicely. Altogether with the suit jacket over top, it’s not too terrible, but he certainly doesn’t look as good as he does in the present.

“Thank you for helping to dress me,” Harry tells his valet. “I know it isn’t the traditional choice.”

The man looks up in surprise. “It is my pleasure, Your Majesty.” And then, rather reluctantly, “Of course, you may wear whatever you please. On to breakfast then, Your Majesty.”

“Please,” Harry says, famished. He gestures to the door. “After you.”

His valet is aghast. “After you of course, Your Majesty.”

Harry shakes his head. “Oh, of course. I lead, don’t I? Sorry.” He’s doing a shit job of fitting in here. And now he’s got to wander round the castle like an idiot searching for the dining room.

Curiously though, when he puts one foot in front of the other, his body seems to intuitively know where to go. His valet and two guards, who Harry hadn’t noticed before, follow just a few steps behind him. He gazes in awe at the opulent, glittering halls, meticulously clean and abundantly decorated. They pass a few staff members along the way, and they stop on the spot and bow or curtsy respectfully.

The dining room is massive, with the longest table Harry’s ever seen set up on one end. The servants stand at attention when he enters the room, along with the lone occupant at the table.

“Mum,” Harry grins, affection swelling in his chest. He hadn’t been entirely certain that he’d be seeing her– the woman who raised him in his reality. She looks different like this, in a long, puffy gown and hair pulled away from her face. More refined, yet older. Her cheeks are fuller and ruddier, and she’s got more fine lines in this reality, she’d be disappointed to know. He rushes to embrace her, overcome with emotion at seeing her, here, and remembering the letter that had been written by a different version of her.

“My goodness,” his mother remarks, kissing him on the cheek once he’s finally released her. She arches a brow at his outfit of choice, but doesn’t address it. “What have I done to deserve such affection?” 

Harry shrugs. “Just missed you, is all.”

His mother laughs “We took tea in the sitting room just yesterday afternoon, Harry.”

Harry grins sheepishly. His mum gives him a pleased, confused smile, and they settle into their seats. Harry’s sat at the head of the empty table, with his mother on his right side.

He’s swiftly served his tea, and offered a cut of ham from a large platter from a young man in a pressed dark suit. “Thank you,” he says, helping himself. Everything looks shockingly delicious. He hadn’t expected food from this time period to be so appetizing. 

His mother primly cracks into the soft boiled egg in front of her. “I’m told you’ve canceled your diary for the day.”

“Wow,” Harry says through a mouthful. “Word sure travels fast.”

“Is everything all right?” his mother asks, forehead puckered in concern. “It isn’t like you to neglect your duties.”

Harry shrugs, looking away. “I thought I could use a mental health day, is all.”

“Mental health day?” His mother repeats slowly. “What on earth?”

“It’s this new thing people do on occasion when they’re feeling overworked.” He hasn’t personally taken one, not since uni, but he knows they’re a thing.

His mother reaches for his hand.

“Darling. I know ascending the throne at your age was… unexpected. But you’ve done a remarkable job thus far. Your father would be incredibly proud.”

Harry swallows the sudden lump in his throat. His father. All this time he’s enjoyed the thought of being king, and he hadn’t once thought of why that would be so. He doesn’t have the closest of relationships with his father in his real life, but he can’t imagine a world where he isn’t around. If he ever gets home where he belongs, he’ll call him. Maybe find time for a visit one weekend. Perhaps that will earn him points with Louis. Family’s always been Louis’s priority.

“That being said, however,” his mother continues, “one mustn't simply neglect their duties because they feel the work is too difficult.”

Harry hangs his head. He hates disappointing people. “I know. I promise I’ll be back to my old self tomorrow. Trust me, you wouldn’t want me making decisions today anyhow.”

His mother’s gaze is suspicious, but she moves on. “Are you prepared for the Princess’s visit next week?”

“Uh,” Harry says, pausing the buttering of his roll. “I think so?”

His mum smiles. “Good. I am so looking forward to meeting her. She looks very beautiful in her portrait, but then, the artist may have taken liberties.”

“I’m sure she’s quite pretty,” Harry agrees neutrally.

“You will give me grandchildren soon, won’t you?” His mother requests dreamily. “It’s so lonely in this old castle with no little ones roaming around.”

Harry nearly chokes on his bread. “Grandchildren?” 

His mother glares at him. “Harry. Not this again. You know you have a duty to produce heirs. At this rate, your sister will never have children, and Lord knows I don’t want horrid cousin Bernard’s brats on the throne.”

Harry thinks about his temper tantrum from last time, leaving his parents and Louis behind rather than face an engagement he didn’t want. He sort of gets it, now that he’s imagining being married off to a woman he doesn’t love and may not even be attracted to, forced to have children with her, and not be with Louis.

Louis. He desperately, desperately needs to see Louis.

“Let’s discuss this tomorrow,” Harry decides, unwilling to even pretend to commit to anything in the moment.

His mother hums disbelievingly but says nothing further on the matter. Harry eats quickly, in a hurry to get out of there lest he back himself further into a corner, then stands to excuse himself. Once again, the occupants of the room jerk to attention, and his own mother hurries to rise as well.

“Finished so soon? It’s not often you don’t clean your plate,” she comments with an airy laugh.

Harry winces. “Well, I could afford to lose a stone or two.”

His mother doesn’t argue, which is only a bit soul-crushing. She only offers him a pat on the arm as a farewell.

Harry’s greeted by an official-looking man in the hall. The man bows respectfully, then falls into step easily behind Harry. Harry’s feet seem to move on their own. Harry hasn’t the faintest where they’re leading him.

“The Lord Chancellor has accepted your request to meet at a later date,” the new man tells him. “He hopes that you recover from your ailment.”

“Awesome,” Harry says. “Hey, do you know Louis Tomlinson?”

The man blinks at him, a deer caught in the headlights. “Lord Tomlinson?” he repeats. “But, of course, Your Majesty. He’s expected to arrive at the castle this afternoon. He’s to be sent for after the evening meal, as you requested.”

“Oh,” Harry says, surprised. “Wonderful. What, erm… do you know the nature of our relationship?”

The other man clears his throat, casting his gaze anywhere but at Harry. It’s as good of a tell as anything. “Of course, Your Majesty. Lord Tomlinson is a dear friend of yours.”

Harry hums. So it’s an open secret, then, at least amongst staff. “Right. Well, I’ll just be–“ he’s stopped moving at the entrance of an ornately carved wood door. “In here. Would you please fetch me when Lord Tomlinson arrives? I’d like to see him as soon as possible.”

The man drops his chin to his chest respectfully. “As you wish, Your Majesty. Your correspondence has been placed on the desk.”

“Thank you,” Harry says. The hint of surprise on the other man’s face, like the valet before him, tells Harry that past him must not engage in a lot of staff appreciation. From now on, Harry decides, he’ll try not to ask too much of them, and treat them politely. He wishes there was a way to ask for their names without offending them. They deserve to be treated with respect, especially because there’s no possible way these people are being paid a livable wage.

God, he hopes he’s paying them.

The room he’s led himself to turns out to be a massive study lined with books to the ceiling. It smells of leather, wood, and parchment. It’s poorly lit, with only a few candle lanterns burning, so Harry goes to the first of the massive windows to pull the heavy velvet curtains back.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when a timid voice says, “Allow me, Your Majesty.” A young maid, barely out of her teens, bows her head in a deep curtesy. “I’m so terribly sorry, Your Majesty. I was readying the room, only– you typically breakfast past the hour, and–“

“Don’t worry one bit,” Harry tells her, touching her shoulder consolingly. The woman’s eyes dart up to meet his in surprise, then skitter to his feet again. “I am early today. You had no way of knowing.”

The woman’s cheeks are crimson. She curtsies again quickly, then hustles to bustle the curtains. Quickly, the broom becomes bright and welcoming. It’s too warm for a fire today, but Harry can imagine the ambiance of the room with a roaring fire and a cup of cocoa.

He’s left alone moments later when the woman shuffled out of the room with one final curtsy. He wanders over to the desk, fingers tracing over everything in his path. He doesn’t bother with the mail that’s laid out for him beyond inspecting the interesting wax seals on the backs of them. He wouldn’t have any idea what to respond, anyhow, if he figured out how to work a quill and ink.

Instead, he pursues the bookshelves, pulling a few interesting volumes from the stacks and flipping through them. It’s so strange to be holding these books in his hands, because everything is so old, yet new at the same time. It’s an absolute mindfuck. All of this is.

There’s an interior door from the study, one of those that’s cleverly disguised as a wall. Harry pushes it open, then glances behind him. There’s no one in the room with him. He finds that a bit surprising, seeing as he’s the King and all, but then he shrugs. He’d prefer to explore without being looked at like he’s lost his mind. 

The doorway leads into another room, remarkably like the first. This one has an enormous painting hanging between the windows. Harry inhales sharply when he sees the subject. It’s his father, in full regalia, looking stern and powerful. He feels another sharp pain of confused grief. He knows, of course, that his own father is alive and well in his reality, but it doesn't take away from the fact that in this one, he’s gone before his time.

Swiftly, he moves on, finds another door, and goes through it. He’s back in the hall; a different one from the first, lit with lanterns rather than natural light. More paintings line the walls, of people he doesn’t recognize, thankfully. It’s eerily quiet. Too quiet. He goes through another door. 

He’s found himself in the kitchen, and thank God for that, because he’d forgotten about his lack of stamina for historical tours. He’s starting to feel like he did when he was a child on castle tours– mildly interested, but after an hour or two, ready for a snack. He’s also ready to see another human face, after being left alone for quite a while. They aren’t ready to see him, however, judging by the collective gasp and the shatter of a plate hitting the stone floor. 

Moments later, he’s being gently ushered out the door with a meat and cheese tray and an apple by the flustered kitchen staff. He’s never seen so much curtseying and bowing in his life. Back in the hallway again, he munches on the apple as he wanders back the way he came. It’s not nearly as difficult as it should have been, but Harry’s starting to think that this body’s muscle memory knows things his mind doesn’t. When he finally re-enters the study, it’s to find the same man waiting for him from after breakfast, looking a bit put out. 

“Your Majesty,” he scolds. “You needed only to alert me, and I’d have gladly sent for libations.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Harry says. “I needed the stretch anyhow. What’s up?”

The man blinks. “What’s up?”

Harry clears his throat. “I mean, how may I help you?”

The man shuffles his feet. “Lord Tomlinson has arrived, Your Majesty. He’s waiting in the hall.”

“Oh!” Harry cries. He sets down the plate of food on the nearest surface, then turns frantically for a mirror. “Send him in, please.”

The man bows. “Certainly, Your Majesty.” 

Harry’s heartbeat picks up as his servant opens the door to the hall and gestures someone inside. 

Louis walks in, with a swagger Harry knows is reserved for when he’s feeling nervous, but with a genuine grin on his beautiful face. He looks devastatingly handsome in his brown traveling suit with cropped trousers and long white stockings. His hair is parted in the middle and a bit fuzzy, probably from the hat he’s got in his hand. It curls cutely under his ears. He’s as trim as ever, and Harry instinctively sucks in his gut, self-conscious.

Louis bows at the waist. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty. Please forgive my appearance, I’ve just got off a horse.”

Harry shakes his head. “You look incredible.”

Behind Louis, the servant clears his throat awkwardly. “If there’s nothing else…”

“Oh! No, that’s it,” Harry rushes out, eager to have Louis all to himself. Louis’s eyes crinkle with mirth as the other man bows, then swiftly leaves the room, closing the door firmly behind him. As soon as he’s gone, Louis collapses onto the nearest chaise.

“Heavens, I’m exhausted,” he groans. “Come here and rub the tension from my shoulders, would you?”

Harry grins, advancing quickly. It’s a breath of fresh air to be treated like a regular person, and not– quite literally– as the King of England.

“I was– ngggh,” Louis groans obscenely as Harry begins working the knots out of his neck. Clearly this version of Louis prefers a rough touch just like Harry’s version. “I was quite surprised to be escorted off of my horse and brought directly to your doorstep today. Is everything alright?”

Harry falters. Perhaps he’s misjudged their relationship. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to see you.”

Louis’s answering grin is one of genuine surprise, but it falls just seconds later. “Oh. I’ve already accepted an invitation to an afternoon garden party in the court lawns.”

“Oh,” Harry repeats, crushed. He’s got nothing else to keep him busy without Louis.

“Unless,” Louis says consideringly, then shakes his head. “No, never mind that.”

“What?” Harry implores. “What are you thinking?”

“Well,” Louis says slowly. “Perhaps you’d like to come along?”

Harry hesitates. He’ll undoubtedly make a fool of himself, an imposter amongst these royals and courtiers living their lives in the correct era.

It’s the look on Louis’s face that does it. The painfully familiar expression of resignation. He’s seen it before on Louis’s face when Harry’s had to cancel plans for work. Louis is expecting him to say no.

“I’d love to,” Harry says instead.

An hour later, after explaining their plans to a silently disapproving Cyrus (the name of his valet, apparently, Harry learns incidentally through Louis), they’re reconvening on the edge of the main gardens, where the courtier’s apartments apparently are located. Louis’s changed out of his traveling clothes and into a navy colored suit, not nearly as garish as Harry’s getup, but much more formal than before.

There’s a bit of an awkward falter as they each wait for the other to begin walking. It takes a smirk and an “after you,” from Louis for Harry to remember that he’s meant to lead those below his status.

Harry’s anxiety rises with each step as they make their way to the fete. It’s a lovely set-up amongst the flowers. A few people sit at the small cluster of decorated tea tables. A larger cluster is playing a boisterous game of croquet. Harry swallows nervously and slows his pace.

“Darling,” Louis says quietly, so the guards won’t hear him. “You’re the King of England. They’re far more nervous to associate with you than you should be with them.”

“Right,” Harry agrees, though it doesn’t make him feel much better. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself to put his performer mask on. It hasn’t let him down yet.

They all stand at attention hurriedly as Harry and Louis approach. It soothes Harry’s ego to see the eager expressions on most of the party’s faces. He’s pleased to discover that ‘he’ has never met most of the dozen or so people at the gathering, and the ones he has don’t expect him to remember them. They all call Louis by his first name, though, and it’s clear they’re quite comfortable with one another. Harry does his best to push down his jealousy when Louis gets into a short, playful tussle, with one of the men on the croquet lawn.

“Have you played, Your Majesty?” one of the men, Lord Chambers, asks him.

“I have, but it’s been years,” Harry admits. His stepfather had a set at his family vacation cottage, and without a strong wifi connection, he’d been forced to play a few rounds as a teenager.

“Really?” Lady Mary wonders. “Isn’t it quite new to England?” She’s been giving Harry the eye ever since he arrived. Harry knows that look, and apparently so does Louis, because he calls over rather snidely, “You can’t expect the King to be as little-traveled as you, my lady.”

Harry has to hide his grin behind his hand.

Although it’s only late afternoon, at some point alcohol is served. As the supper hour approaches, Harry is pleasantly buzzed on mulled wine and has won a round of croquet (he may have been handed the win, but he’ll take it. A win is a win.) and been gifted a flower crown. With alcohol, Lady Mary has grown bolder, and Harry finds himself feeling oddly claustrophobic under the intensity of her attention, even though she’s seated two spots down from him at the supper table. He does, however, take great pleasure in watching Louis’s face as she speaks. At one point, Harry has to clap his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud when Louis curls his lip and silently mouths back one of her sickeningly sweet compliments.

Lady Mary isn’t the only one who’s grown bolder. Harry, naturally seated at the head of the table, has Louis directly to his right in the seat of honor. Harry can hardly control himself when he’s not been drinking, so the alcohol coursing through his veins means he can’t resist touching Louis in every way possible. It starts with catching Louis’s ankle between his own, and ends with a hand caressing Louis’s thigh, creeping upward and upward as the sun steadily lowers in the sky.

Louis, who’s been remarkably straight-faced considering, throws him a sharp look and clamps his hand down on Harry’s when his hand can’t possibly go any further, then jerks his head toward the direction of the castle.

“Well,” Harry says, far too loudly, startling the group into silence. “This has been a lovely evening, but I’m afraid I must retire.” He stands from the table, and the rest of the party hurries to stand as well, Louis included, who rises with his dinner napkin strategically placed over his groin.

After several minutes of farewells, including a deep, cleavage-laden curtsy and loaded look from Lady Mary, Harry’s leading the way back to the castle, Louis hot on his heels. No one questions the fact that Louis’s leaving with him. The path has been lit by candle lanterns, and the glow of the castle in the background makes for a lovely ambiance. Harry wishes he could hold Louis’s hand.

“Order a bath to be run,” Louis whispers under his breath, as they enter the private living quarters.

Harry clears his throat. “I’d like to have a bath,” he says loudly. And then, because it feels strange to be so openly bringing his male lover back to his rooms with him, adds, “And Lord Tomlinson will take tea in the sitting room whilst he waits.”

Cyrus, who looks as though it is several hours past his bedtime, bows in acquiescence. “Certainly, Your Majesty.”

Louis and Harry sit in the lounge and chat idly as a team of servant bustle in and out doing Harry’s bidding. Louis is telling him all about his trip home to the countryside, but Harry’s only half-listening, instead waffling between guilty thoughts about making his employees go to work for him when he’s got two perfectly capable hands, and heady thoughts about what he and Louis are about to get up to.

When the maid leaves the washroom, cheeks flushed and curtsying clumsily, and Cyrus bows and bids them goodnight, Louis stands. “Finally. I’ve been dying for a wash.”

Harry’s mouth goes dry, and the blood rushes to his groin, as Louis makes quick work of his clothing. He’s thinner than his modern-dimension counterpart, but has equally wiry muscles, and possibly even thicker thighs. His bum still bounces beautifully when he kicks off his trousers. Harry’s fingers itch to touch his skin, smooth and gorgeous and startlingly clear of tattoos.

Louis leaves his clothes in a pile by the chaise and walks toward the washroom. Glancing behind him when he reaches the threshold, he smirks at Harry, who thus far has found himself unable to move. “Well, are you coming?”

Harry trips over his own feet in his haste to get up and follow, and Louis throws his head back and laughs at him, exactly like he’s done thousands of times in Harry’s real life.

By the time Harry joins him in the washroom, Louis’s already lowering himself into the steaming, lavender-scented water. He looks such a perfect picture, like utter royalty, bathing himself in a gold tub. Harry wishes he had a camera.

“My back isn’t going to wash itself, you know,” Louis says, gesturing for Harry to join him.

Still, Harry hesitates. Louis is absolutely gorgeous. There’s not a flaw in his body. And Harry... well. This body isn’t exactly easy on the eyes. 

Louis ducks under the water entirely. When he comes up for air, his chest and cheeks are flushed from the heat, and he slicks his hair back from his forehead. Harry can’t resist. He takes a breath, then begins to disrobe. His confidence rises very slightly as Louis watches his progress with hot eyes. Thankfully, Louis zeroes in on Harry’s bobbing erection rather than his significant love handles. Louis licks his lips, then moves forward in the tub so that Harry can sit behind him. Harry hisses as he enters. The water feels only slightly under boiling.

“You’ll get used to it,” Louis advises, leaning back onto Harry’s chest once they’ve got their legs situated. “Hmm. I’ve missed you.”

Harry kisses his shoulder. “You too.” 

Louis adjusts himself a little, pushing his arse further into Harry’s groin. They both laugh when Harry’s erection bobs out of the way and straight up into the water. Louis reaches back and maneuvers it so it’s nestled just so between his arse cheeks. Harry groans and bucks forward, the resistance of Louis’s hole the best sort of tease.

Louis looks over his shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded, dark eyelashes still glistening with water. “Wash me.”

Harry drops the bar of soap at least five times over the next several minutes, as he scrubs every inch of Louis’s skin that he can reasonably reach without breaking their connection. Louis doesn't make it easy, grinding back and forth occasionally. With each coordinated thrust and grind, Harry’s cock pushes in just a bit further, until the entire head is engulfed in Louis’s hot heat. It feels so fucking good, and it’s so bloody sexy, but it won’t feel good for Louis for much longer. Regretfully, Harry pulls out, and Louis whimpers. “You’d better fuck me proper, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, I will,” Harry promises. “Come out from the tub.”

Louis complies promptly, grinning. They wrap themselves in the pair of towels that were laid out and hurry into the adjoining bedroom. The contrasting cool air is startling, and Louis shivers comically, then dives for the bed and buries himself under the covers. “Come here and warm me.”

Harry drops his towel and slides under the covers and into Louis’s open arms. This Louis kisses like his Louis at home, and a pang of guilt suddenly hits him. He’s having sex with Louis, but it isn’t _his_ Louis. Likewise, this version of Louis isn’t aware that the Harry he’s kissing isn’t his own. It’s not cheating, not really, but morally, he’s still in muddy waters.

And then, Louis pushes his tongue into Harry’s mouth and drags a hand down to Harry’s dick, and all thoughts aside from enjoying a satisfying orgasm float out of his mind.

Louis leans away for a moment and comes back with a container of some sort of lubricant, which he presses into Harry’s hands. He winds his legs round Harry’s waist and tugs him closer with strong thighs. Harry leans down and kisses him as he opens the stopper on the bottle. The liquid is thinner than the lube he’s used to, but it’ll certainly do.

“Are you ready?” Harry murmurs against Louis’s lips.

“More than,” Louis breathes back.

Harry pulls away to wet his dick and winces as he sees the way his stomach pudges at this angle. It’ll probably jiggle with each thrust. He’ll just have to keep Louis distracted.

They groan in tandem when Harry pushes in. Harry pauses to allow Louis time to adjust, but Louis grunts his dissent and tugs him closer.

“Harder.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. Louis makes little noises with each thrust, eventually moving his hands from where he was leaving half-moon indents in Harry’s biceps, to the tufted headboard above him.

It’s an embarrassingly short time until Harry feels his impending release. “Stay inside me,” Louis orders when Harry warns him. And even though they’ve pretty much always gone bare ever since they decided to be exclusive, the mere thought of coming inside Louis takes him over the edge. He makes a valiant attempt to keep thrusting as he softens, as Louis bites his lip and takes himself into his own hand to finish.

As Louis comes down, panting hard, Harry slips out of bed to find some sort of cloth. He returns with one of their wet bath towels, and Louis takes it from him gratefully, swiping his stomach and between his thighs before tossing it back onto the floor. Harry’s got to remember to pick that up before one of the staff has to do it.

Louis opens his arms and gestures for Harry. Happily, Harry snuggles up next to him, tugging his head against Louis’s chest.

“Do you know,” Louis says, voice slow and silky in the way it always gets after sex, “that apart from your mother and God, I am the only person who’s seen the top of your head?” He scratches his fingers through Harry’s long hair, just like real-life Louis does. “My reluctant king.”

“Do I not want to be king?” Harry asks curiously, feeling fuzzy from the attention.

Louis hums. “No sane man wishes for power beyond measure.”

Harry can agree with that. It’s a fun thought, for a bit, but he’ll pass on holding all that responsibility.

“Today was good,” Louis says, after an extended comfortable silence. “T’was nice to see you before the moon showed its face.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. But something nudges at his conscience. Some of the things Louis’s been saying today are a bit suspicious. Like the fact that they apparently don’t spend much time together outside of the bedroom. “Wait,” he says, with growing panic. “You do– you genuinely like me, yeah?”

Louis laughs. “What’s gotten into you today? Harry, you are my favorite person on this Earth.”

“Good,” Harry says, relieved. “I was beginning to think this was a Pretty Woman situation.”

Louis frowns. “A what?”

It’s Harry’s turn to chuckle. “Never mind.”

Louis shrugs, then sighs. “Suppose I’ll see even less of you when Princess Marisa arrives.”

Harry kisses his chest. “I’m sorry, Lou.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Probably whatever he does say won’t make any difference at all.

Louis shrugs. “I’m used to sharing you with the world. What’s one more person?”

“You don’t mind it?” Harry asks, surprised.

“Of course I do,” Louis says. “But I do understand. You have a duty to your people. A job. It is… how it is.”

Harry’s lips quirk up in amusement, and his fingers trace along the path where his Louis’s tattoo would be. It is what it is.

“Lou,” Harry says slowly. “One day, in a different life somewhere far in the future, you and I can be together like we deserve.”

Louis snorts. “Have you read the Good Book lately?”

Harry sits up. “No, not heaven. Say there’s a different version of you and me, in another time and place.”

Louis rearranges himself, tucking his arm behind his head. “Alright, quirky.”

“I’m not teasing!” Harry insists. “You and I are together. About to get married.”

It’s not, Harry hopes, entirely untrue. Should he ever get home, he’s going to do his damndest to make things right.

“Married?” Louis repeats incredulously. “Have I become a woman?”

Harry snorts. “No. In this future, men can marry one another. Be openly together.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Interesting. Go on.”

Harry hesitates, because sharing more somehow feels a bit like he’s breaking the fourth wall. “All I’m saying is, I might not be able to give you everything you deserve right now, but one day you’ll get it.”

Louis smiles, closing his eyes. “No queen in my way. No royal duties taking time away from us.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Harry says, feeling strangely guilty and defensive. “I’ll still– I mean, I still need to work. I’ll be bringing in most of the money.”

Louis frowns. “Why? What do I do, in this mythical future?”

“You’re a musician. A musical instructor, anyway.”

“Really?” Louis props himself up on his elbows. “What instruments?”

“A lot of them,” Harry says. “But keyboards are your favorite.”

“Keyboards?” 

“Yeah, erm, like an organ, kinda.”

Louis pulls a face. “That’s wretched.”

Harry takes a risk, his limited historical knowledge once again doing him no favors. “Closer to a piano, though?”

“Oh,” Louis says, face clearing of disgust. “I love playing the piano.”

“I love hearing you play,” Harry tells him. Louis used to do it all the time, especially when he’d been in that half-baked garage band for a spell straight out of uni. But it’s been months– perhaps even years– since Louis’s sat at his keyboards in the study and worked out a melody, or played a cover.

Louis’s brows shoot to his hairline. “You’ve heard me play?” 

“Of course I have,” Harry scoffs. “...Haven’t I?”

Louis smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are far more important things for you to concern yourself with.”

“Well, I disagree,” Harry says stubbornly. “Get up. We’ll find a piano right now and you can play me something.”

Louis laughs. “You’re mad if you think I’m leaving this warm bed.”

“Hum something, then. Your latest piece.”

Louis huffs, embarrassed. “Alright. If you insist.”

Harry lies back down, snuggles into the pillows, and closes his eyes as Louis begins humming. He’s got such a unique voice, high and clear. Harry never tires of listening to it.

He is tired though, in the way that vigorous bedtime sex always makes him. He swings an arm around Louis’s middle and tucks his foot under Louis’s ankle. Louis’s hand comes up to play with Harry’s hair, and he keeps humming. It’s the perfect recipe for slipping into a deep sleep, and Harry doesn’t fight it, nudging away the worries about what’s to come when he wakes again tomorrow. Today’s been so much better than last time. Things aren’t perfect, but at least they’re together. Harry can only hope that next time– if there is a next time– will be more of the same.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Both Louis and Harry are in closeted relationships in this chapter. See end notes for further spoilers if this is triggering for you.

Harry wakes to the sound of a rooster crowing. It’s loud and fucking obnoxious, but it does the trick. Must be why Louis chose it as his alarm.

Harry rolls over and snuggles into Louis’s warm body. The bits of him exposed to the air feel like ice lollies, and all he wants is to bury his nose in the warmth of Louis’s neck and his fingers in the soft skin of his inner bicep.

The nightshirt Louis is wearing is oddly long. Harry searches with his eyes closed until he finds the hem, then trails his hand under it, up Louis’s soft stomach. But he recoils and jolts up in bed in surprise when, instead of touching Louis’s flat pectorals, he’s got a handful of soft flesh. Unmistakably a female breast.

Harry stumbles out of the bed, tripping over the quilt and nearly colliding with the wall, as the woman in bed stirs awake.

For a horrifying split second, Harry wonders if he’s done the unthinkable, and somehow cheated on Louis with a woman. But as his panicked eyes take in the room he’s in, small yet cheerful, with blue floral wallpaper, a wardrobe, a table with a basin of water, and an old fashioned sofa chair, he realizes.

He’s still in the past. He shouldn’t be surprised.

“Harry?” the woman calls to him, concerned.

“Sorry,” Harry says, covering his privates with his hands. He’s wearing nothing but a threadbare pair of underpants, that leaves little to the imagination despite the chill.

“You didn’t have to stop,” the woman says soothingly, almost pleadingly. “It’s been so long, Harry. You promised me we could try for a baby.”

Harry stares at her in shock. “No,” he stammers. “Just- no. I’m sorry.”

The woman deflates entirely. “I’ll go fix breakfast whilst you dress.”

Harry averts his eyes as she climbs out of bed. He winces when she brushes past him to gather her robe from the back of the door. Then she closes the door behind her.

Harry hurries to the mirror above the washbasin to inspect himself. The weight from the life before is gone, and then some. In fact, he may have a bit of definition in his arms, but the rest of him is downright scrawny, pale, and boring without his tattoos. He looks sallow and exhausted, and his hair, cut just below his ears and sticking up at all angles, doesn’t help anything. He’s also got a wedding band on his left hand, where his engagement ring to Louis used to sit. That one is on his right ring finger, and when Harry tries to wiggle each of them off to swap them, neither of them budge.

There’s a chain round his neck. The pendant’s swung to his back during sleep, and Harry rights it, only to discover it’s not a pendant at all, but a set of identity tags stamped with his own name.

Involuntarily, Harry shudders.

He does a cursory inspection of the rest of his body, but aside from being knobbly kneed, he looks alright.

“Harry,” the woman calls.

“Shit.” He bumps his knees on the table as he turns, then hisses in pain as he hobbles to the wardrobe. He pulls a pair of folded trousers and socks from the drawer, and yanks a dress shirt from the hanger, the thought of the woman returning to the room before he’s fully dressed sending him into an unexplained panic.

He opens the door and follows the smell of ham and the tinny sound of a radio playing old-timey music. The short hall is lined with the same floral wallpaper as the bedroom, although it looks a little worse for wear.

He comes to the stairwell, but his stocking feet slip on the polished wood floor, and he yelps as he goes down hard, falling on his bum on the top step. Harry groans, and lies back on the landing for a moment to collect himself and attempt to quell his growing frustration.

“Are you alright?” his wife (fuck, he’s got a wife) calls down from below. “Serves you right, for refusing to wear those slippers I bought you.”

Harry sighs, sitting up. “I’m fine.” Very carefully, he descends the rest of the steps, then turns the corner into the kitchen. The house is small, but cozy, from what Harry can see. There also isn’t a neighbor in sight, but there is a barn off to the right of the yard.

“Before you sit, would you put another log on?” his wife asks him, gesturing to the wood-burning stove in the corner. “Fall is certainly round the corner, isn’t it? I don’t suppose after you fix the fence, you could chop some more wood for me before supper?”

“Sure,” Harry says. He leans down and takes a piece of firewood from the small pile and opens the grate, tossing the fire in.

“Here you are,” the woman says, setting a plate down in front of Harry. It smells divine. There are beans, a slice of ham, and a scrambled egg, all steaming hot. Before Harry has a chance to tuck in, she places her hand on his forearm. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Harry assures her again. “Only my ego’s bruised.”

She shakes her head. “Not the fall. The nightmares. You look as though you didn’t sleep a wink.”

Harry blinks. That might explain the bone-deep exhaustion he feels. “I can’t remember,” he answers honestly.

She opens her mouth to say something more, but they’re both startled by the sputtering of a car on the road in front of the house.

“Blast! He’s early!” She stands hurriedly, tugging at the bits of fabric in her hair. “I’ve still got my curlers in!” And she dashes out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Harry watches curiously as the truck, delightfully vintage (although, Harry notes, it’s merely a car of the times), parks directly in front of the picture window in the kitchen. He gasps aloud when none other than Louis steps out.

He’s so very different from the last time Harry saw him. He’s thinner, and he looks older, though it might be due to the full beard. In Harry’s real life, when Louis lets his facial hair grow there’s a bit of a red tinge, but this beard is much more salt and pepper. He’s wearing dirty work trousers and a flannel work shirt. He’s also walking with a limp, putting more weight on his left leg than he ought to.

Harry hurries to greet him at the door, clearly startling him when he hurls it open before he even gets entirely up the steps.

“Christ,” Louis swears, hand to his heart, though he’s grinning. “Nearly put me in an early grave there, mate.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, grinning right back. “It’s so good to see you.”

Louis’s smile softens into something fonder. “You too, Harry.”

They gaze at one another for several seconds in silence, some sort of moment passing between them. Harry desperately wishes he knew where they stand.

“Well,” Louis says finally, “May I come in?”

“Of course!” Harry moves aside so Louis can enter the house. Despite there being enough room for him to comfortably pass, Louis moves so that his chest slides up against Harry’s, hint of a smirk on his lips. Where they touch through their shirts, Harry’s skin burns hot.

Someone clears their throat behind them.

Louis takes a step back, turning away. “Morning, Vivian.”

Vivian smoothes down her clothes and pats her curls. She’s put a hasty clip in her hair, and she’s done up the buttons wrong on her dress. “Good morning,” she replies with a smile, though she shoots Harry a clearly suspicious look. So that’s how it is, then. “You’re here bright and early this morning!”

Louis laughs apologetically. “Sorry about that. Things are a bit mad at my place right now.”

Vivian laughs. “I can imagine. Have you eaten?”

Louis pulls a face. “Only a bit of toast.”

“Sit down,” Vivian says decidedly, “and keep Harry company whilst he finishes. There’s plenty, and it’s the least we could do, what with you coming over on such short notice. Matthew is sick as a dog, his wife says.”

Louis hums. “Summat’s goin’ round. Season’s changing.”

Louis joins Harry back at the table, accepting the plate he’s handed. He whistles, impressed. “I see she’s still trying to fatten you up,” he teases Harry, poking him in the ribs. Harry squeaks and ducks away, swatting errantly at Louis with his napkin. Louis smiles fondly, then remembers himself, glancing Vivian’s way. “Me own mum can hardly be bothered these days.”

“She’s a busy woman,” Vivian says generously.

“How is your mum?” Harry asks. Louis’s mum is genuinely one of Harry’s favorite people. It’s been ages since he’s seen her.

“She’s well,” Louis says with a mouthful. He swallows down his bite with a gulp of tea. “Busy, with the baby coming.”

Harry grins, elated. “Another baby?”

Louis frowns at him. “Not hers. Esther.”

Harry clears his throat, embarrassed. “Right. Course. Esther.”

“How is she doing?” Vivian interrupts, coming round to sit opposite Harry at the table. “Reckon her time is any day now.”

“Any day now,” Louis repeats cheerfully, eyes cutting quickly to Harry. “My sister’s under strict instruction to ride her bicycle up here to fetch me if the time comes.”

The eggs Harry’s just put in his mouth suddenly feel like rubber. He swallows them down with difficulty, and his eyes dart to Louis’s left hand to confirm his suspicion.

“Your wife is having a baby.”

“Yeah,” Louis confirms warily.

“Your baby.”

“Yes,” Louis repeats again, harsher this time, staring pointedly. Harry glares back, so angry he could cry. A wife, Harry could handle. But a baby? It feels like Louis’s stomped on Harry’s heart. That was their dream, together, and Louis’s gone and done it without him.

“Well,” Vivian says, falsely cheerful after too many seconds of fuming silence. It takes all of Harry’s might not to jerk away from her touch when she puts her hand on his arm. “Harry and I are hopeful we’ll follow in your footsteps soon! Practice makes perfect, isn’t that what you always say, Harry?” She squeezes Harry’s arm painfully tight, probably daring him to contradict her.

Louis laughs, high and mocking. “Oh, I’ve heard stories, believe me.”

Vivian gapes in shock, and despite his anger, Harry’s lips twitch into a smile. Louis can cut like a knife when he wants to.

Vivian recovers quickly. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if our children were the same age? Oh!” She looks from one man to the other, beaming. “What if our children were married? The two of you really would be like brothers.”

Harry tries not to retch. Louis’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Lovely,” he agrees dryly. “Listen, we’d best get started. I’ve got to be home before supper.”

Vivian stands hurriedly. “Yes, of course. I’ve put tea and biscuits in a tin, just here.” She extends the tin and thermos to Harry, who can’t seem to release his fork from his hand.

“I’ll take them, thanks,” Louis says. His hand lands heavily on Harry’s shoulder. “Come about, lad. This fence ain’t going to fix itself.”

Harry sighs, shoulders sagging. He wishes he could go back to bed, and get away from the pair of them. Getting further away from Vivian, at the least, will have to be his consolation.

“Go on, then,” Vivian encourages, as Harry slowly rises to his feet, guided by the warmth of Louis’s hand. “And don’t forget about the firewood, please.”

She follows them to the foyer, watching as Harry puts on his jacket and steps into a pair of scuffed work boots. Louis lingers by the doorway, pretending to be keenly interested in his nail beds.

Vivian pulls Harry toward her and plants a quick kiss on his cheek. “Be good,” she tells him sweetly against his ear. It feels vaguely like a threat.

“Well, that was terrible,” Louis comments dryly as the door swings shut behind them. “She’s already suspicious, and you go and act like that.”

Harry’s pretty certain she’s more than suspicious. “It’s your own fault. A fucking baby, Lou?”

Louis’s brows shoot up to his hairline, and his entire body goes taught. He glances back at the house and plasters a fake smile on his face before turning abruptly on his heel toward the barn. Once again, Harry notes the pronounced limp, and he frowns, concern distracting him from his anger momentarily.

“Really?” Louis hisses over his shoulder. “You decide to have a problem with this now? If you’ll recall, darling, we decided together to come home when we were discharged, rather than run away together.”

“Well, that was fucking stupid of us,” Harry seethes. He grabs for the barn door before Louis can get his hand on it, and wrenches it open with so much force it nearly bounces shut.

Louis stares at him. “Are you off your nut? What on Earth is wrong with you today? You wanted to come home and care for the farm, and I had mum and the girls to look after!”

“Well, maybe I didn’t realize there were wives and children involved!” Harry shouts back. This situation is completely unlike the times before. When he was a Knight, there were no women to bother with. As a pirate, he’d clearly made the correct decision not to get married. His time as King, marriage was still more of a far-off idea than a tangible thing. He wasn’t prepared to share Louis with a completely different family.

Louis snorts humorlessly. “You’re just jealous cos you’ve got a missus who still thinks she’s got a real shot.”

“I’m not fucking her,” Harry retorts. “More than I can say for you.”

Louis sighs. He turns his back to pick up a metal toolbox, and grunts under its weight. Harry takes it out of his arms.

“We agreed not to talk of this,” Louis says tiredly. “Listen, Esther’s been good to me. She knows about you and she doesn’t expect much more than food in her belly and a roof over her head. She wanted a baby, and you know how broody I am about babies.”

“You still had to fuck her,” Harry accuses as they start toward the truck. He feels deeply bruised Although the circumstances are a little different, he can imagine this must be what it feels like to discover you’ve been cheated on.

“Just a couple pokes with me eyes closed,” Louis says crudely. “It’s not so bad. You’ve done it before, and liked it, if I recall.”

Harry shrugs noncommittally, arms burning from the tool chest. He hasn’t had sex with a woman since his first year in uni. He didn’t hate it, but he certainly hasn’t missed it.

“Just think of it as a warm hole,” Louis continues, opening the hatch of the truck for Harry to set down the toolbox. He smirks. “Maybe she’ll let you stick it up the arse when you’re through.”

Harry knocks him on the shoulder, smiling despite himself. “Shut it. That’s what you’re for.” Louis throws his head back in laughter, and shoves him back, then swats him on the bum.

Harry’s anger cools a little as he watches Louis go about his business, rounding up the final materials they need. He feels like a dunce, following him round and being less than helpful, but Louis says nothing about it. Eventually, they’re climbing into the truck. It’s strange to be a passenger. Back home, Harry prefers to drive when they’re together. For having several more years of driving experience, his Louis’s not very good at it. But this Louis is an old pro, navigating the overgrown gravel road with ease.

“So, are we alright?” Louis asks, after a lengthy silence.

“Yeah,” Harry decides. He knows Louis’s word can be trusted, and apparently they’d discussed it. It doesn’t mean he has to like it, though. “Are you alright?” He gestures to Louis’s right leg, which he’s been massaging on and off ever since getting into the truck.

“Just the change in weather,” Louis dismisses. “Doc says it’ll only get worse come winter, so I’d better get used to it. Fucking Nazis.”

Harry frowns. So far, everything about this life has been absolutely miserable. He just wants to take all the pain away, “I’ll rub it for you.”

Abruptly, Louis turns off the gravel road and into a field. Harry grunts as his shoulder knocks into the door, scrambling to find something to hold on to.

Louis laugh at him. “Look about, love.” He stops the truck in front of a weathered, three-post fence. There’s an entire section that looks to have collapsed. Louis and Harry get out of the truck and gather their equipment. Louis hands Harry a pair of work gloves from the toolbox, then collects the new wooden posts from the back, whilst Harry gathers the old wood from the ground. He hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing, but his body seems to, so he lets it lead him.

“Reckon that’d make some good firewood,” Louis remarks, as Harry loads the old wood into the truck bed. “Two birds, one stone, eh?”

“Reckon so,” Harry agrees. “Hey. C’mere.” He feels drained, emotionally and physically, and he desperately needs to feel Louis in his arms.

Louis rolls his eyes, even as he smiles fondly, and drops the mallet he’s holding. He steps into Harry’s outstretched arms and winds his arms around his waist, squeezing tightly. Harry squeezes back, burying his nose in Louis’s shoulder. He smells of washing powder, fresh air, and tobacco.

“Thank you for helping me.”

Louis pulls away to look Harry in the eye, concern etching his forehead. “Of course, sweetheart. You alright?”

“Just… feeling a bit sad is all.” He feels unexplainably melancholy, beyond the discovery that he and Louis are leading

Louis nods. “Yeah. That’s natural. Mum says me grandad were never the same. You been taking those pills the doc gave you?”

Harry shrugs. He hadn’t seen any evidence of medication anywhere.

“Take them,” Louis urges. “They knock me right out, keep the nightmares at bay.”

“You have nightmares too?”

“Don’t think anyone got away unscathed in that department, love.” He touches Harry’s chin with a glove-clad hand. “You know,” he adds, “Sometimes, it doesn’t feel right sleeping in a bed. It’s as though, after all those years in the trenches, the ground’s where I belong.”

“Don’t say that,” Harry urges. He can feel his heart shattering. He just wants to take their suffering away. “You don’t mean that. You’ve got so much to live for. You’ve got me. We’ve got each other.”

“No, darling,” Louis soothes, placing a hand over Harry’s rabbiting heart. “I didn’t mean that. I only mean I can’t get comfortable in a bed any longer.”

“Oh,” Harry says, feeling stupid.

Louis smiles at him. “Let’s get this finished so we can spend some time together before Vivian gets too suspicious.”

They work steadily and efficiently for the next hour, rebuilding the broken bits and replacing some other rotted boards further down. Harry works on autopilot, this task clearly something he’s done before. When they’ve loaded the truck back up with their supplies, discarded their gloves, and shared the tea and biscuits between them, Louis gestures the trees on the other side of the fence.

“Let’s go sit by the stream.”

Harry rids himself of his coat, having worked up a sweat, and follows Louis. They duck under the rung of the fence and head for the tree line, walking in companionable silence. There’s a well-worn path beneath their feet, and Harry gets the sensation they’ve walked this same route dozens of times.

It’s been ages since Harry’s been to a place where there’s not a peep of road noise, or any man-made sounds at all. It’s been overcast all morning, but the sun decides to grace them with its presence just as they come to a natural clearing in front of a trickling stream. Louis stretches out on the embankment with a groan, carefully cradling his injured leg, and Harry follows suit, scooting so they’re shoulder to shoulder. It feels good to lie down, after standing and bending over and over again for the better part of an hour.

“I used to dream about this place, during the war,” Louis says, voice quiet, as if anything above a whisper might disturb the tranquility. “Sometimes I’d be alone, but sometimes you’d meet me here.”

“What was I doing?” Harry murmurs back.

Louis waggles his eyebrows, and Harry laughs. “Only joking,” Louis says, grinning cheekily. “...Maybe.” Then, his face grows serious. “Sometimes you’d be happy. Those were the best ones. But other times…” he trails off, inhaling shakily. “One time you were already here when I arrived, lying just like you are now. But you– you were covered in blood, and when I got close to you–”

“Don’t,” Harry urges, rolling onto his side so he can pull Louis into his body. His stomach roils and his heart aches. He doesn’t want to be here any longer, he wants to travel far away and never think of this lifetime again, but he doesn’t want to leave Louis here either. “You don’t need to go on. We’re here now. Together.”

Louis sighs, closing his eyes. “Unbelievable, innit? That we both survived– relatively unscathed, anyway?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry says slowly. “I think in every lifetime, we’re destined to be together. Not even war could tear us apart.”

Louis snorts, though not unkindly. “You’re proper poetic, Harry Styles.”

Harry yawns. “I do try.”

“In my next life,” Louis says, pillowing his head on Harry’s chest, “I’m going to have money. With no bum leg, and none of this war nonsense. I’m going to have you, and it won’t be seen as wrong, and we’re going to be safe.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, grinning into Louis’s hair. He couldn’t agree more. “Sounds perfect.”

Louis yawns loudly. “Let’s dream about it. Right now.”

His yawn is contagious. Harry blinks blearily, and the clouds above him go in and out of focus. He feels like he could sleep for a hundred years. He’d settle for eighty or so, perhaps wake up in his own bed, where he may be going through a rough patch, but at least he doesn’t have to endure watching his soulmate have children with another whilst he’s trapped in his own loveless marriage.

“Sweet dreams,” Harry says, closing his eyes. “Love you. I’ll always–” yawn “–love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: 
> 
> \- crude mention of m/f intercourse.  
> -Harry and Louis are both married to women, and Louis is expecting a child.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry wakes to a warm breeze on his face and the gentle rock of a vehicle. His head is resting uncomfortably on a pane of glass.

He blinks his eyes open and wipes the drool from his jaw with the back of his hand. He’s in a van, a Volkswagen in mint condition from the looks of it. Pink Floyd is playing softly from the radio, and the sun is just barely on the horizon. It’s a sharp contrast from his last wake up.

To his left, sits Louis, his hair long and straight, a longer version of the modified Justin Bieber look he’d rocked in uni. He’s golden tan and wearing a blue tank top, and light wash jeans. He glances away from the road to smile softly at Harry. Harry inhales slowly through his nose, struggling to quell the overwhelming urge to cry at the sight of him. 

“Hey. Didn’t mean to wake you with the music. I was bobbing a bit.”

Harry smiles back, subtly wiping at his eyes. The Louis he’d left was a broken man, older than his years. This one, by all appearances, is relaxed and healthy. And unmarried, judging by his naked ring finger. “That’s alright. Where are we?”

“Just a couple hundred miles away. Thought we’d stop at a diner in a few. Maybe catch a few roadside attractions too?”

“Sounds good,” Harry says, rolling with it despite the mental whiplash.

The landscape surrounding them is brown and dry. It looks like the desert. Judging by that, and the position of the steering wheel, he’d guess the American Southwest. And judging by his own outfit, a loose floral top and bell-bottoms, and the length of his hair (past his shoulders), he figures its the seventies. He’s wearing his ever-present engagement ring, on the correct finger this time. He doesn’t even bother to attempt to wiggle it. 

Louis hums along to the music, and Harry joins in. He and Louis have different taste in music, generally, but Pink Floyd is a band they both know and love.

They grin at one another as they simultaneously begin singing along.

“We’re just two lost souls, swimming in a fishbowl,” they sing in harmony. “Year after year.”

It brings back such nostalgia for the early days of their relationship, when they were young and stupid and freshly in love. Louis drove Harry home to Doncaster in his old beat-up Cleo, to meet his family for the first time. Harry was so nervous he felt like he could vomit, so Louis distracted him by staging a screaming sing-along to an iPod playlist curated specifically for the occasion. Harry was in awe of him, and how he so easily looked out for everyone else in his life, without sacrificing the fun. 

The memory is nearly enough to erase the regret from the lifetime he’s just arrived from. Nearly. Harry reaches for Louis’s hand across the expansive space between their seats.

Louis jerks his arm away, startled.

“Oh,” Harry says, yanking his own back. Heat creeps up the back of his neck. He’d just assumed, like every other time, that they have that sort of relationship. “Uh, sorry.”

“No worries, mate,” Louis says quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Sorry,” Harry says again, wishing he could sink into the leather. He’d never imagined there’d be a version of them not together. “I just assumed, I guess.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Louis says, with a little laugh of embarrassment. “You’re just my first hitchhiker. But I can’t say you didn’t catch my eye. Might’ve been the reason I stopped.” He winks. 

Harry swallows. Hitchhiking. Groovy. 

“I’m not opposed for one last night of fun,” Louis says with a shrug. “But maybe we should get to know one another a bit first?”

“Right, yeah,” Harry agrees hurriedly, still trying to process what’s going on. So, they’re strangers, who somehow happen to be traveling in a van together across the southwestern United States. And Harry is a hitchhiker. “Let’s get to know one another. Tell me about you.”

Louis laughs again, more relaxed. “I picked you up on the side of the road after you’d just left a commune. I reckon of the two of us, I’m not the interesting one.” 

Harry’s jaw drops. “A commune?” All he knows about communes from the seventies has come from television and movies, and the associations he has pretty much all revolve around orgies.

“I had a coworker who left to join one of them,” Louis says. “Never heard from him again. I’ve always wondered what it’s like.”

“Oh, erm,” Harry says, floundering. “Just a bit of farming. Living off the land. Sharing the workload, and all that.”

“Sharing beds,” Louis adds with a wink. Harry opens and closes his mouth, flustered. “I’ve never had a menage a trois,” Louis goes on, sounding vaguely curious. “Or more than, I suppose. Seems like it’d get a bit messy. How’d you know where all the bits go?”

“I dunno,” Harry says honestly. He’s never had a threesome either, although he’s been propositioned enough times when he and Louis have gone out to gay bars. There may have been a time, at the very beginning, when he’d have considered it, but ever since he and Louis decided to be serious, the thought of sharing makes his stomach roil.

He did have a series of very delicious erotic dreams featuring himself, Louis, and Liam Hemsworth for several weeks after watching the Hunger Games. And he’s always had a lingering fantasy of experiencing a double blow job.

“Alright, I get it, you don’t want to share the gory details,” Louis teases. “But how’d you wind up in an American commune, anyhow?” 

“Um,” Harry says. “Well, I came here for work– a corporate job. In marketing. Slaving away for the man, and all that. I suppose one day I just decided that I needed to get back to the things in life that are important, like friendship, and love, and giving back.” He surprises himself with his own words, the truth ringing through in a way he hadn’t planned or expected. He does prioritize things that are less important than the man beside him, and for what? If there’s anything he’s learned in his time life-hopping, it’s that whilst things aren’t perfect in his lifetime, he’s lucky to have Louis when he does, where they don’t have to constantly look over their shoulders, meet in secret, or have wives– all for the sake of safety. 

“That’s really lovely, actually,” Louis is saying, when Harry refocuses, feeling much bluer than a moment before. “I can relate to that, in me own way. I came across the pond for school and discovered that it wasn’t me to be cooped up in a classroom all day.”

Harry chuckles. That sounds like Louis. His Louis scraped through uni by the skin of his teeth. He’s the smartest person Harry knows, but he’s not a traditional learner.

“Anyway,” Louis goes on, “I stopped that and worked odd jobs here and there, picked a new town every couple years. Americans really go mad for a British accent, don’t they? Lucky they can’t tell the difference between ‘em, eh?” 

Harry laughs along with him. His Louis’s always been self-deprecating about his thick northern accent, but he’s dead proud of his roots.

“But I miss England,” Louis says with a sigh. “Strange to say it, as I’ve always said I wanted to go away. But me mum and siblings are there, and my old mates. So it’s time to say goodbye to the American Dream.”

“You’re leaving?” Harry feels like his heart’s just been crushed by a brick. 

“That’s why I said I could only take you as far as Los Angeles,” Louis says. “I fly home early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh,” Harry says. Well, at least they have one night together before Harry disappears as well.

But, he has a sudden thought. What happens to the other Harry? Once he’s gone, moved on to another time, does the real Harry just pop back into consciousness? Will the real Harry ever get his chance to know and love Louis?

“Look,” Louis says, oblivious to Harry’s fretting. He points to a billboard sign advertising the best burgers in Arizona. “You want to stop for a bite? Hope they’re open for brekkie.”

“I could eat,” Harry agrees, suddenly very aware of his empty stomach.

There’s hardly anyone else on the road. Louis turns up the music and painstakingly cranks down his window even further, and they ride on in companionable silence. As the sun creeps up the horizon, it turns the sky the color of grapefruit, and the cool morning air blows Harry’s long hair out of his face. Louis begins singing softly along to the radio again. 

But despite the ambiance, Harry worries his lower lip between his lip and remains in his own head. There’s been a curious theme in all of the lives he’s experienced. It seems that whilst Louis has been present in all of them in different ways, he hasn’t been a priority for Harry. It’s a disturbing pattern that he seems to be continuing in his own life, and he doesn’t like it.

“Alright over there?”

Harry starts. Louis is smiling at him endearingly from the driver’s seat, and the van is parked in front of a quaint, nearly-deserted diner with shiny glass windows revealing a garish brown and orange color palette inside.

“Sorry,” Harry says, flushing. “Guess I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

Louis nods in understanding. “Luckily for you, I’m excellent at making things all about me. If you wanted to get out of your head, that is.”

Harry smiles. “Yeah. Sounds perfect.”

Louis digs into the space between their seats, procuring a cigarette pack and a lighter. “Need anything from your bag?” he asks, gesturing to the back.

“Oh,” Harry says, turning to find an army-green duffel bag with ‘STYLES’ written on the side in ink. “Maybe.” He pulls the bag onto his lap and opens it. There’s only clothing– a pair of bell-bottom trousers and some shockingly tiny yellow shorts, a few tank tops and another flowery blouse. Harry pats at the pockets of the jeans he’s wearing and discovers a wallet– empty, save for one thing. He holds up the joint. “Er… looks like I haven’t got any money on me at the mo.”

Louis’s grin is wicked. “I think we can work something out. Let’s save it for tonight, though. There’s something about getting high under the stars.”

It feels good to get out of the van. Harry raises his arms above his head and stretches, and his back pops deliciously. Despite it being breakfast time, the air is already warm, and it feels hotter than it did in the van with the windows open. Has air conditioning been invented yet?

The diner is cooler than it is outside, but not by much. It stinks of stale cigarette smoke. As an occasional smoker, Harry isn’t bothered by a bit of smoke smell, but he’s immensely thankful that the laws prevent indoor smoking where (and when) he’s from. There are only a few other patrons– an old man drinking coffee at the counter in a full suit and hat, who looks Louis and Harry up and down like they’re the scum of the earth, and a couple with a sleeping child in the mother’s lap.

“Morning, boys. Sit anywhere you’d like,” a waitress calls to them from behind the counter. “I’ll bring you some coffee in a minute.”

“One thing I cannot wait for,” Louis says lowly as they slip into a booth overlooking the parking lot and dust beyond, “an English cuppa. I don’t mind coffee, but there’s nowt like a fresh brewed tea.”

“I prefer coffee when anyone else makes it,” Harry says. “But you make a pretty decent cuppa.” Louis frowns. Harry stammers. “I, I mean– you look like you would, anyway.”

Louis’s brow smooths. “That is true, actually.”

“Here you are, gentlemen,” the waitress greets them, turning over their coffee mugs and filling them with the carafe. “Do you take cream and sugar?”

“Please,” Louis says. “Thanks, love.”

The woman does a double-take, then titters. “Oh my. You’re from England!”

Louis grins slyly. “Wait until you have a listen to him.”

The woman turns expectantly to Harry, eyes wide and eager.

“Uh,” Harry says. “Pleased to meet you.”

The waitress nearly shrieks with glee. “I was such a fan of the Beatles. But you two are so much better looking. Oh, I could sit and listen to you talk all day.”

“We’d love it if you’d take our order,” Louis says politely. 

The woman starts. “Oh, of course. Forgive me.” She passes them each a plastic menu from her apron pocket.

Louis makes eye contact with Harry. “Order whatever you like. Can’t imagine I’ll take the time to exchange any leftover American money when I get home.”

The prices on the food are astoundingly inexpensive. Of course, he’s not eating in London in the year 2019, but he’s still shocked to see a loaded omelet with a side of toast for a dollar and ten cents. After some deliberation, he chooses the egg and sausage platter, and Louis takes the same. Reluctantly, the waitress leaves their booth, and Harry excuses himself to the toilets. 

He gets his first good look at this version of himself when he’s washing his hands. His long hair is less curly than it had been as a pirate. He’s slender, with less muscle than he has in his present life, but not nearly as scrawny as he’d looked as a war veteran. His skin has a healthy glow, and he actually looks like he has a bit of an arse with the cut of his trousers. He quite likes the look of his legs in bell-bottoms, actually. He might have to search for a pair to wear at the weekends when he gets home. If he ever gets to go home. 

Louis’s already tucking into his meal when Harry returns. “Wasn’t sure if you liked ketchup, so I had her leave you a bottle,” he says through a mouthful.

Louis keeps the conversation flowing all throughout breakfast, another cup of coffee, and a slice of pie and a cigarette afterward. Harry does his best to contribute, feeling– for whatever reason– more reluctant to reveal himself as a stranger to this time period than he has in any other lifetime. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that this impression he makes of himself is the real 70s Harry’s only shot. But Louis’s stories and experiences are so dynamic, so full of life, that Harry feels positively dull in comparison. Thankfully, Louis doesn’t seem bored with him yet. 

“I can drive for a bit, if you like,” Harry offers as Louis conceals a massive yawn behind his hand when they exit the building. “I like to drive.”

It’s a testament to the trustworthy nature of the time period that Louis hands over the keys without a fight. “That’d be rad,” he says with a grin. “I could really use a kip. D’you mind if I lie in the back rather than in the front with you?”

“Not at all,” Harry says. “Just, erm, how do I know where I’m going?”

“There’s a map in the glove compartment,” Louis says. “But you can probably just follow the signs. Traffic’ll pick up round Palm Springs, I reckon.”

Harry hasn’t relied on anything but a voice-assisted GPS in years. Frankly, he’s not sure if he can even interpret a map and drive straight at the same time. “Alright,” he says gamely.

Louis opens the boot and crawls in, slamming the door behind him. Harry sits in the driver’s seat and chuckles as Louis buries his face in the putrid orange carpeting with a groan of pleasure. If he’s anything like his Louis, he’ll be out like a light in a minute. He and Harry both have always slept like the dead. It made for a difficult transition to living together without flatmates– no one else to bang on the door in frustration as the alarm droned on. But they’re older now, bodies long since trained by the monotony of early morning wake-ups. In fact, Harry now considers himself a morning person. 

Driving on the other side of the road takes a few minutes to get the hang of. Once he’s feeling comfortable, Harry turns the radio up and cracks the window, as the van is heating up like the tin can on wheels that it is. 

The scenery, whilst vastly different from anything Harry’s seen in England and his European travels, gets repetitive after a while. And with Louis snoozing in the back, there’s no one to talk to. He quite enjoys music from this era, so at least he’s got that, but mostly he has hours to think.

The other lives he’s experienced have all had their moments of ennui. And although they were all entirely different from one another, they also feel inexplicably linked. He’s certain that he and Louis are meant to be in one another’s lives, and this experience has only confirmed that. But Louis’s remained remarkably himself in each lifetime– kind and smart, generous with his love, loyal to a fault. Harry, on the other hand, doesn’t always recognize himself. Never would he have imagined that he’d leave Louis behind to escape family pressures, or bend to those pressures entirely, or sacrifice love for tradition.

But then again, perhaps he’s not being fair to himself. He’s lucky enough to have been born and grown in a time where homosexual relationships are more accepted than ever before, and whilst he frequently laments how far the world has to go, this experience makes him equally grateful to live in the time period he does, rather than any of the ones he’s experienced thus far. He feels incredibly sad for the other Louis and Harrys, and all his other queer brothers and sisters who came before him who weren’t and aren’t able to safely live their lives loving who they want to love. 

He wishes he could do more, to better the lives of his and Louis’s past selves. But then, he wonders, has everything already happened the way it happened? Are they really in the past or a different dimension? Both questions he never thought he’d be asking himself. If he ever sees the woman who sold him the ring again, he’ll ask her.

There is, indeed, more traffic as they approach Palm Springs. They’re desperately low on petrol, and Harry’s desperate for a wee, so he takes the first exit and looks for a petrol station. It’s a bit awkward, waking Louis to tell him they need petrol that Harry can’t help pay for. But Louis only nods and stretches out onto his back. 

The architecture, the cars, and the people are fascinating to look at. Everything is bright, colorful, and oddly shaped. And the people are so tan. Louis takes over driving once they’ve filled the tank and relieved themselves, and Harry spends the next half hour with his nose practically pressed to the glass in wonder. 

“It’s like you’ve never seen civilization before,” Louis jokes, laughing. He doesn’t seem to be weirded out by Harry’s behavior. “D’you want to do anything else whilst we’re here? It’s only a few more hours to Los Angeles.”

“Sorry,” Harry says sheepishly, tearing his eyes away from a woman in a fantastic floral velour jumpsuit roller skating down the side of the highway. “Erm, I’m up for anything, really.”

“Let’s keep on,” Louis decides. “My mate told me about a few groovy spots in Los Angeles I’d like to see.”

“Alright,” Harry agrees easily, watching Louis as he unclips a pair of massive orange-tinted aviators from the visor. He looks simultaneously ridiculous and sexy.

There’s a lookout spot just outside of Palm Springs that Louis stops at, just because. The place is fairly busy– plenty of families sharing a picnic lunch before hitting the road again. There’s a group of young people who look straight out of a movie set in the 70s, carrying on under a tree with a guitar.

“Cigarette?” Louis offers Harry as he sprawls out on the patchy brown grass. Harry shakes his head. Louis ducks his head and tucks the tip of his cigarette into the collar of his tank top and out of the wind like he’s always done. It gives Harry a half heart attack, half hard-on every time.

“Be nice to get out of this bloody heat,” Louis says. “Never thought I’d long for a good London rainshower.”

“Don’t I know it,” Harry agrees. At least the sweat on his brow keeps his hair stuck to his forehead rather than blowing in his eyes. “I don’t smell too sweet, that’s for certain.”

Louis looks on as Harry sniffs under one armpit, then the other, amused. “Think you might be caught smelling yourself in that poor family’s vacation photograph.” He gestures behind Harry to a family posing at the top of the ridge.

“Ah, shit,” Harry says. “That’ll be a photobomb to remember.” Strange to think that somewhere out there in this reality, there’s proof of his existence aside from inside his own brain.

Louis’s brows furrow. “Photobomb?”

“Oh!” Harry says. “Yeah, it’s just like where you jump in the background of someone’s picture and do something unusual. They’re funnier when they’re on accident. Or with animals.”

“Photobombing. That’s funny,” Louis says. “I didn’t know that had a name. Why’s it called photobombing?”

“Dunno, actually,” Harry says, wondering if explaining the term ‘photobombing’ breaks any time travel continuum rules. “Reckon because a bomb is like, an unexpected, shocking event?”

Louis nods consideringly. “You don’t smell, by the way,” he says, as an afterthought. Grinning, he adds, “Not terribly, anyway.” 

“How very generous of you.” Harry reaches out and tweaks his nipple, and Louis shrieks and curls away. 

Harry wants to pull him close and cuddle him, but they’re in public, in the seventies in America. He settles for knocking their knees together instead, and Louis smiles up at him coyly from under his lashes. Harry resigns himself to taking pleasure in these secret moments, for now. 

The rest of the drive into Los Angeles is terribly uneventful. It takes all of Harry’s effort not to nod off– he’s not quite ready to leave yet.

They eat lunch at a burger joint, where the food is delivered to them by a pretty girl in high waisted shorts and long, pin-straight hair. Then, Louis parks the van and they wander the city together.

It’s a fantastic time. Despite Harry being entirely out of his element in a different country and from another time, his connection with Louis remains the same. They wander in and out of shops and spend hours in the coolest record store Harry’s ever visited- probably because this one is authentic, and not simply vintage. He wishes he could take all of the classics back with him to give to his mother, who frequently laments that she lost her favorite records in the divorce.

Louis, lovely Louis, spies him staring reverently at a Mamas and the Papas record, and offers to buy it for him.

“I couldn’t,” Harry says, knowing that the real Harry in this lifetime would likely have no use for it. “I’ve got nothing to play it on.”

“You might, one day,” Louis says gently. He hasn’t pushed at all this entire time together, about Harry’s current or future plans, probably sensing that all isn’t right in his life. Harry lets him think so, firstly, because he doesn’t know the truth anyway, and secondly, because he’s selfish. Louis’s got to be putting up with him partly out of pity, but Harry will take what he can get. He never realized how boring he is before today when he hasn’t got an established relationship or talk of work to fall back on.

“No, really, you don’t have to do that for me,” Harry insists. “You’ve already taken me all this way, and paid for my meals and that, all because you’re a good person.”

Louis chuckles. “I’m not that good of a person. I told you you caught my eye, yeah? Besides, I don’t do well on me own. Always have to have someone’s attention.”

“Well,” Harry says, catching Louis’s eye and holding it. He leans against the record container, subtly shifting his pelvis. His Louis would have called him out on his blatant posturing, but this Louis tilts his head in interest, subtly inching closer. “You’ve definitely got my attention.”

“I think,” Louis says slowly, replacing the record he’s holding, “I’d like to see the city views from the hills. Maybe share that joint?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, mouth suddenly as dry as the desert. “Let’s do that.”

Two hours later, and they’re crawling into the back of the van, sat on a hill overlooking the twinkling lights of LA as the sun sets. They’re too close to the city to make out any stars, but it’s alright because Harry isn’t interested in looking at anything else but the man in front of him.

Boldly, Louis sticks his hand down the back of Harry’s trousers, and Harry’s heart skips a beat, but Louis emerges with his wallet and a smirk.

“What sort of girl do you think I am?” he teases, when Harry exhales in disappointment.

Harry snorts. “The sort to get high with a stranger in the back of a van, maybe.”

Louis throws his head back in laughter. “True, that. Mind if I…” he shakes his lighter.

“Go for it.”

Louis puts the joint in his mouth and lights the tip, sucking in his cheeks to puff a few times. He passes it to Harry, then lies back on the carpet, closing his eyes. “That’s good shit.”

“Mm,” Harry agrees, taking his own hit. 

Louis holds out his hand for it again, sitting up on his elbow with a curious look on his face. He gestures for Harry to join him. “Come here.”

Harry does as requested, mimicking Louis’s position. Louis takes a deep inhale, then pulls Harry toward him by the collar. Harry opens his mouth to welcome the smoke, and Louis’s soft, wet lips on his own. He’d once watched Louis and Zayn shotgun on a dare at a party in their twenties, and it was simultaneously the single hottest and most jealousy-inducing moment of his life.

“Again,” Harry requests, eyes still closed, as Louis pulls away. Louis chuckles softly, but acquiesces. This time, when Louis’s mouth touches his own, Harry doesn’t hold back, and the smoke swirls uselessly round them as they kiss instead. Louis moans when Harry’s tongue touches his own, shuffling closer until they’re chest to chest. Harry embraces the back of Louis’s head, entangling his fingers into the sweat-damp hair at the nape of his neck. 

Abruptly, Louis pulls back, cursing. “Ah, fuck! Burnt me fingers.” He moves the still-lit joint to his other hand and sucks his knuckles into his mouth. Harry can’t help but chuckle a little, and that gets Louis laughing too. “Let’s get rid of this first,” he suggests.

They share the joint between them, kissing and caressing occasionally, until it’s nothing but a nub, then Louis leans over and pushes open the back window a crack to toss the roach into the dead grass. They’ve proper hotboxed themselves, so Louis leaves the window cracked to allow a bit of the old smoke to snake out. 

Harry plasters himself to Louis’s back whilst he’s busy, and Louis titters and ducks his head away from the biting kisses Harry leaves on his neck. Harry, pleasantly high and horny, pulls Louis back into his arms and tugs the low neck of Louis’s tank down to expose his tiny, pert nipples.

“Harry,” Louis whines, making a feeble attempt to bat him away as his lips close around a nub. “I’m sensitive.”

“I know,” Harry agrees. “Just a taste, yeah?”

Louis’s giggle transforms into a sharp gasp as Harry licks and suckles, first one and then the other. He grinds his crotch in the air helplessly, and although Harry’s perfectly content where he is, he takes pity on him and moves lower. “Can I?” he asks, hands hovering over the fly of Louis’s bell-bottoms.

“Fuck yes,” Louis breathes, knocking his head back against the carpeting of the van floor. He looks nearly too high to get hard, but his cock prevails. It sticks straight up from a dark patch of untrimmed pubic hair. And although Harry caught a good look at his own impressive bush every time he pissed today, it still catches his funny bone.

“What?” Louis asks lazily, entirely unbothered by the fact that his one-night stand had a laugh immediately upon seeing his dick.

“It’s like a…” Harry snorts into Louis’s thigh, “...snake...coming out of the bush.”

“Be careful, or he’ll spit at you,” Louis retorts.

“Mm,” Harry says, singularly focused once again. “Hope so.”

It’s not his best, but it’s got Louis writhing nonetheless. He works his hand and mouth over Louis with slow, light suction, occasionally trailing his fingers down Louis’s balls to his hole. Louis bucks his hips back on a whine each time he does it, making Harry desperately wish that they had lube.

Louis is a quiet lover, not unlike his modern-day counterpart. He doesn’t say much during sex, which was a surprise for Harry the first time they’d slept together, because Louis’s personality had been so much larger than life. Harry likes it, though. Most people don’t get to see Louis’s true self– far shier and more introspective than he appears on the surface.

“I’m coming,” Louis warns him, clenching Harry’s shoulder tightly moments before he spills into his mouth. Harry gives one last kiss to Louis’s softening member, then shuffles back up to kiss his lips.

“Wow,” Louis praises on a sigh. “That was excellent.”

“I can do better,” Harry demurs. “But thanks.” 

Louis reaches for the fly of Harry’s trousers. “Let me return the favor?”

Harry groans, rolling onto his black. He’s been hard for what seems like ages now. “Please.”

The waist of Harry’s trousers are so tight that Louis can’t get the button undone on his own. Harry undoes his trousers himself and tugs them down enough for his erection to smack onto his stomach.

“Cor!” Louis cries, over-exaggerated, when Harry tugs his bell-bottoms down enough to expose his prick. “Would you look at that.” He reaches out, entirely unselfconscious, and grips Harry’s cock round the base. “Get your bollocks out, too,” he orders, and Harry complies, wriggling his jeans lower down his pelvis.

Louis immediately grips both balls firmly in his hand, squeezing gently. “Well done, lad.”

Harry chuckles. “Uh, thank you.”

Louis peeks at him cheekily from below dark lashes. “Alright if I give it a little kiss?”

Harry groans again, bucking into Louis’s hand in assent.

Louis grins, wriggling down to crotch level. Harry hisses when, rather than a peck, Louis takes the entire head into his mouth and sucks. Hard. He looks up at Harry from under his lashes, coquettishly innocent with Harry’s cock filling his mouth, and it takes all of Harry’s willpower to not spurt then and there.

“I won’t last lo–” he cuts himself off as Louis takes him down as far as he can go, then slides back up again, tongue pressing firmly on the sensitive underside. Harry can’t look away as Louis bobs. He knows he’s pulling the shag carpeting out of the floor with his grip, but he can’t help it.

Louis’s mouth is a bit dry from smoking, but the drag only adds a layer of pleasure. Harry comes too quickly and without the courtesy of a warning, getting guilty enjoyment out of watching Louis swallow his load. He reckons it’s been a while since he’ s gotten off, judging by the force and sheer amount that shoots out of him.

Louis comes up for air laughing and wiping at his mouth. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Sorry,” Harry apologizes, blushing. “Suppose it’s been a while.”

Louis grins. “No orgies in the compound after all?”

Without words, they make the joint decision to stretch their legs out and have a wee. It’s long gone dark by now, and the breeze feels cool on Harry’s overheated skin. Harry’s watch tells him it’s just past midnight. 

On cue, Louis yawns. “I’m knackered, mate. I’ve got to have a kip before the airport. D’you mind if we crash here for a few hours?”

“Not at all,” Harry says. “You sleep. I’ll set my alarm and wake you. What time do you need to be at the airport?”

“Six at the latest, I think. Blasted early morning flights. But aren’t you going to rest?”

“I’m not tired,” Harry lies, because he didn’t travel all this way only to not see Louis off on his flight. “I’ll rest my eyes a bit, maybe.” 

Louis regards him suspiciously. “Alright. I’ll just be here if you want a cuddle.”

Harry smiles. “Might take you up on that. I’m going to walk a bit.” 

Louis nods. “Don’t get eaten by a coyote,” he teases.

Louis disappears into the back of the van, closing the doors behind him. Harry walks for a bit. There’s a neighborhood just at the base of the hill, and the glow of their backyard pools seem to brighten the sky more than the moon itself. There’s another car parked several hundred feet away, windows fogged. Harry chuckles and gives it a wide berth. He finds a spot on the ground, sitting down against a large boulder, and tilts his head up to the dark sky.

He’s certain, now, why he’s been sent on this journey, and he feels like an idiot for it having taken this long. After all these years of being with the man of his dreams– his soulmate– he’s been taking him for granted. Every Louis in every universe somehow manage to love Harry deeply, despite his numerous downfalls. Even this version of Louis, who’s only met Harry for the first time today, has so easily opened his heart. He deserves better than what he’s been given, and that needs to change. 

And Harry, likewise, deserves better for himself. He may have been blessed (or cursed?) with the ability to get a glimpse of his alternate lives. 

He devises a plan. It’ll involve cutting back his hours at work, which will be difficult but necessary. Perhaps he can skip his workout and devote a few more hours of work on Sunday mornings, when Louis sleeps in, in order to get home a bit earlier each night. He’ll organize more date nights.

Louis’ll give him another shot. He’s got to. They’ve clearly navigated through much worse than this, even if his Louis doesn’t know it. 

Harry feels at peace when he eventually makes his way back to the van hours later. His return to his own life is imminent, he can feel it under his skin. He’s learned his lesson, and he’s ready to make things right.

Louis doesn’t so much as shift when Harry closes the door behind himself and crawls next to him. His breathing is deep and even, and Harry hovers over him for a moment, watching him sleep. Harry resists the urge to pull him close, instead stretching out as best he can next to him. Just an hour or so until they’re meant to set off to the airport.

All of a sudden, Louis snuffles and murmurs, making Harry jump. 

“You know what’s strange?” Louis asks, eyes still closed, voice scratchy with sleep. “It feels a bit like I’ve known you forever.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees after a beat, blinking back the tears that have been threatening to fall for ages. “Me too.” He hesitates, then adds. “We’re connected, you and me. In every lifetime, we’re meant to find one another. This is just one of those moments, but we’re going to have so many more together. I wish you could remember them with me.”

Louis is silent for so long that Harry assumes he’s fallen back asleep. Then, Louis snorts. “Knew you were a hippie.”

Hours later, after Louis’s woken up properly, grumbling and groaning and with apparently no recollection of their early morning conversation, Harry sits on a molded plastic chair across from the men’s room in the Los Angeles airport. Louis’d parked the van in long term parking, then simply left the keys in the glove box, much to Harry’s chagrin.

“Sold it to me mate,” Louis’d said when Harry questioned him. “He’s due back for school in a few days and will pick it up then.”

“Aren’t you worried it’ll be stolen?” Harry’d demanded, but Louis just shrugged him off. 

The airport is nothing like what Harry’s used to. It’s still bustling with people, but rather than heads buried in phones and yoga pants for days, people carry books and newspapers, and are nearly dressed in their Sunday best. Even Louis emerges from the men’s room looking well put together in a fresh pair of trousers and a patterned, collared shirt.

“Walk me to my gate?” Louis requests. Harry nods, hitching his bag of belongings onto his shoulder. There’s hardly any security protocol. They’d walked right in and up to the check-in desk, then onto the rest of the airport without so much as a body scanner or metal wand.

“Thanks for keeping me company these last few days,” Louis says as they walk.

“No, thank you for allowing me to tag along,” Harry says. “You didn’t have to stop for me, or feed me or any of that, but you did.”

“Well, maybe we’re connected after all, as you said.” 

Harry does a double-take, surprised, but Louis’s smiling without a hint of malice, eyes crinkled and kind. 

“Actually,” Louis says, then, without warning, he darts off toward the desk at the gate. Harry stares after him curiously as he’s handed a pen and paper from the agent. Louis scribbles quickly, then hands the pencil back. But his walk back to Harry is a bit more hesitant than he left. He adjusts his fringe self-consciously, just like Harry’s Louis does. When he reaches Harry again, he thrusts the paper into his hands. “I hope it’s not too forward. But I thought maybe we could keep in touch.”

Harry looks down at the London address, Louis Tomlinson scrawled messily at the top.

“That’s me surname, Tomlinson,” Louis babbles. “Reckon I never told you that.”

Harry chuckles. He hadn’t even thought to disclose that, having already known Louis, of course. “Better late than never. I’m Harry Styles.”

“Harry Styles,” Louis repeats. “It suits you. Anyway, I’m a shit pen pal, but it seems a pity to waste… well, whatever this is. I don’t mean to pressure you, of course.”

“Louis,” Harry says, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance. “There’s nothing I’d like more than keeping you in my life, even if it’s through international mail.”

Louis’s grin is relieved. “Good. Have you got any idea where you’re headed next?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Harry says honestly. “But I’ll figure it out.”

They both startle when a crackling voice comes over the intercom to announce the boarding of Louis’s flight.

“Well,” Louis says. “Suppose this is goodbye, then.”

Harry nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. It’s an especially bittersweet goodbye for him, because he’s that much closer to going home, but he’s also got to leave this Louis forever. “We’ll see one another again, somehow,” he promises. “Maybe in this life, maybe in another.”

“I hope so,” Louis says. He holds out his hand, a formal goodbye in a crowd full of people. Harry, wishing he could gather him in his arm, returns the shake instead.

“Safe flight.”

Louis nods, hitching his rucksack onto his shoulder and pulling his ticket out of his breast pocket. He gives one last wave over his shoulder, then joins the throng of passengers clamoring to line up for boarding. 

Harry stands there until Louis’s disappeared down the jetbridge. Then, he approaches the gate desk. “Have you got a pen I can borrow?”

The woman, smiling, hands him a fountain pen. Harry turns over Louis’s note, then writes on the back in large letters: YOU JUST MET YOUR SOULMATE. DON’T LET HIM GET AWAY!

Carefully, he tucks it into his breast pocket, sticking out just enough so the real Harry can’t possibly miss it when he returns. Then, yawning, he collapses into a chair, exhaustion taking over.

He closes his eyes, certain of what he’ll see the next time he opens them, and feeling at peace with what he’s accomplished in this short time he’s had. His own life may be a mess in this universe, but at least he’s set himself on the right path– into Louis’s arms. Provided, of course, that the real Harry of this lifetime doesn’t fuck it up.

The hubbub of the airport quickly fades into the background as Harry succumbs to sleep. The ring that hasn’t left his finger for days feels suddenly warm and tingly against his palm, radiating up his hand, through his arm and into his core.

He’s going home.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry jerks awake to a loud bang.

“Fuck,” Harry curses, adrenaline surging as he stands hurriedly from the desk chair he’d apparently been sleeping in. He looks around frantically, sleepy brain working overtime to orient himself in the unfamiliar environment.

Someone giggles to his left. It’s a woman, mid-forties. She’s wearing navy blue scrubs and is holding a prosthetic arm in her hands. “Meant to scare you, not make you piss yourself. But watch your language at work.”

“Sorry,” Harry hurries to apologize. He scans the room. He’s in what looks like a small office cubicle, with a set of four desks. There’s a massive, ancient-looking computer in the center of the room, paperwork and various adaptive medical supplies piled on every empty surface.

The woman frowns. “I was just teasing. Everything alright?”

Harry scrubs at his face, struggling to keep it together. He’d been so sure that this was it, that he’d learned his lesson and that he’d be transported back to his real life. Instead, he’ll have to endure another 24 hours adjusting to this one, and who knows how many after that. What if he’s in a never-ending loop of alternate realities, where he gets to have Louis but never really have him? He doesn’t know how much of this he can take.

“Harry?” the woman prompts, touching him on the arm. “What’s going on? You look like you’re about to cry, love.”

Harry turns away. “Could you give me a minute please?”

“Of course,” the woman says quickly, backing away. “I’ll just be out here if you need anything.”

Harry doubles over the desk as soon as he hears the door click closed, wiping away frustrated tears on the sleeve of his scrubs. He was so sure he’d learned his lesson. So sure that he was ready to make changes in his real life to not take Louis for granted.

He crouches there for several minutes, collecting himself until he’s ready to stand and orient himself to this new life.

The office cubicle where Harry’d been sitting has a corkboard decorated with personal photographs and a calendar.

Harry looks more closely. 18 September 1993. This version of Harry has diligently crossed off each day as it passed. This is the first time Harry’s been certain about when in time he is. It makes everything feel all the more real.

This version of Harry clearly doesn’t want for friends. There’re Polaroids and terrible quality printouts of him with all sorts of people- bowling with a group of men wearing matching bowling shirts, throwing back a shot and all decked out in feathers at some girl’s hen do. Beaming proudly in front of a building sign- Ascot Rehabilitation Outpatient Clinic.

It’s overwhelming, really. He’s always been a bit of an unintentional loner in his real life, and in every other life, he’s experienced so far.

He doesn’t recognize any of the people aside from himself (rocking an unfortunate haircut and puka necklace). And Louis isn’t present in a single one of them.

There’s a mirror on the back of the office door. He’s wearing the same navy scrubs as his coworker, layered over a white long-sleeved tee. His hair is tied back in a cornflower blue handkerchief.

Harry plucks the name badge from his shirt. _Harry S.,_ it reads. _Adaptive Services._

Shit. There’s no way he can bullshit his way through this one. He could seriously hurt someone.

There’s a rucksack hanging over the back of his desk chair. Harry grabs it, slings it on his back, and heads for the door. He’ll tell his coworker he’s feeling ill.

The clinic is a maze. He passes a large, open, therapy room, smaller treatment rooms, and a what looks like a pediatric wing, with an ocean animal-themed mural on the wall.

“Morning, Harry,” someone greets him as they pass one another in the hall. Harry nods in shortly in greeting, avoiding eye contact, as he follows the signs to the waiting room.

“Harry!” someone calls from behind him. “Hey, Harry!”

Reluctantly, Harry turns. A young man is heading toward him, a broad grin on his face. “I’ve just installed the steering knob on Mr. Arnold’s car. Will you come have a look?”

“Uh,” Harry says.

“Sorry I didn’t wait for you,” the kid steamrolls on. “It’s just that I watched you put in Tom Jenkins’s the other day, and Mr. Arnold has been so anxious to get back behind the wheel, and I knew you’d be round to check it anyway.” He rocks back and forth on his heels, grinning nervously.

Harry shakes his head to clear the cobwebs. “No, it’s, it’s fine. I’m sure you did a great job, uh…” _Darren, Adaptive Services Intern._ “...Darren. But I was actually just–“ he stops short, as a familiar flash of purple catches his eye over Darren’s shoulder.

It’s her. She’s wearing bright violet colored scrubs, and her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She’s just appeared in the hallway like an apparition, and the way she’s staring at him makes Harry feel like she can see directly through him. Which, maybe she can.

“Excuse me for just- just one second,” Harry mutters, sidestepping Darren and making a beeline for the woman.

“Harry,” she says pleasantly. “Nice to see you. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Why am I still here?” Harry demands. “I get it, okay? I know I’ve been sabotaging my own relationship! I know I need to make big changes to deserve Louis in my life! Why are you doing this to me?”

The woman scowls. “Please. Do you think I’m enjoying this? My hair is in a scrunchie.”

“Then let me go back!” Harry begs.

The woman shakes her head. “Believe it or not, I don’t make the rules. You haven’t completed your journey.”

Harry growls in frustration, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Well, I can’t stay here,” he tells her.

She shakes her head. “You’ve got to, sorry.”

Harry scoffs. “If I kill anyone today I’m blaming you.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. Whatever happens, has already happened.”

Harry turns on his heel, plastering on a fake smile for Darren, who’s watching them with open curiosity. “Alright, Darren. Lead the way.”

Mr. Arnold is a man in his early sixties, who walks with a limp and holds his right hand in a tight fist. He grins broadly when Harry and Darren approach, holding out his left hand to shake.

“Good morning, Mr. Arnold,” Harry says, grinning right back. The man’s smile is contagious. “I hear you’re ready to hit the road.”

“Yes,” Mr. Arnold says. He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but closes it again, and looks toward his wife.

Mrs. Arnold pats him on the arm. “It’s been his goal ever since the stroke.”

“Shall we go and have a look?” Darren prompts Harry, after several seconds of awkward silence.

“Yes. Definitely,” Harry says.

Thankfully, Darren takes the lead. Harry only has to nod and mhm at the right places. Darren gives him a few confused looks, but the Arnolds seem to be none the wiser. They both are overcome when Mr. Arnold sits behind the wheel for the first time. Harry and Darren tactfully look away when Mr. Arnold swipes a tear from his eye. The steering knob looks just as one would assume– a knob attached to the wheel. It works a treat for Mr. Arnold, whose right hand remains fisted the entire time they’re together.

It’s a powerful experience, getting to be a part of such a simple, but life-changing event such as this one. He gets choked up a bit when Mrs. Arnold hugs him tight at the end of their practice drive through the parking lot, and Mr. Arnold, clearing his throat, gives him a firm pat on the back.

“Are you alright?” Darren asks him, as Mr. and Mrs. Arnold leave the rehabilitation center hand in hand. “You’re not yourself today.”

“I’m fine,” Harry says, turning away to discreetly wipe his eyes. “Just letting you take the reigns a bit. Trying to be a good mentor.”

Darren grins. “Cool. Well, I’ll go get started on the paperwork.”

Harry sighs. So far so good. If he can just continue to keep under the radar, he’ll get through this. He knows what the witchy woman told him, but he doesn’t totally trust her- or himself.

But the woman from earlier finds him loitering in the hall just a few minutes later.

“There you are,” she says. “Those shower support bars we need for Jason Underwood’s home health visit aren’t in the van.” She stops short when she sees his deer-in-the-headlights look. “Oh, you’re still not yourself, are you?”

Harry shrugs, peeking at her name badge. _Jeanette, Physical Therapist. _“Just a down day, I suppose.”__

__Jeanette pats him on the shoulder. “Well, dinner with your sister ought to cheer you up.”_ _

__“With my sister?” Harry repeats, surprised._ _

__“Yeah, you said you were meeting her after your shift today.”_ _

__“Oh,” Harry says. “Right.”_ _

__“How’s she doing, by the way? I know she was gutted when her cat died.”_ _

__“Uh,” Harry says, certain he must look as dumbfounded as he feels. “She’s better now. Doing alright.”_ _

__“Good,” Jeanette says. “You tell her hello for me. Could you please be sure those shower support bars are in the van?”_ _

__Harry blinks, taken aback. He’s not used to his coworkers being so involved in his life._ _

__“Yeah, okay. I’ll do that.”_ _

__Thank God for Darren. Darren puts the shower support bars in the van. Darren also installs them in Jason Underwood’s bath whilst Harry stands around pretending to be supervising. Jason, a twenty-five-year-old car crash survivor, who lost his left leg up to the knee, goes on and on about finally not needing his girlfriend to wash his arse for him._ _

__When they return to the rehab center, Harry helps a pretty young Occupational Therapist called Brittany set up an obstacle course for her afternoon pediatric patients._ _

__“Pub trivia tomorrow night,” she tells him as they finish. “You up for it?”_ _

__Harry blinks in surprise. “Yeah. I’m up for it. I’m not that great at trivia, though, as a warning.”_ _

__She rolls her eyes, grinning. “Tell me about it. But you do pick the punniest team names.”_ _

__Harry laughs. That does sound like something he’d be good at. Coming up with answers to questions on a timetable, not so much. Louis’s the quick thinker. He’d be amazing at it. “My b-“ he stops short, belatedly realizing he probably shouldn’t out himself. Guilt strikes him just as quickly. This is the first he’s thought of Louis since waking up in this life. He clears his throat._ _

__Brittany smiles. “You should bring him along sometime.”_ _

__Harry’s never had a job like this one._ _

__“Hey, Darren?” Harry asks as they’re fixing the foot pedal of a wheelchair. “Why’d you choose this job?”_ _

__Darren snorts. “Wish I were being paid.”_ _

__Harry laughs. “Right. Intern.”_ _

__Darren pauses his tightening in contemplation. “Suppose I like working with my hands.”_ _

__Harry waits. “That’s it?”_ _

__Darren chuckles. “If you want me to get soppy, I also really like helping people. It’s nice to go to work knowing you’re making a difference to someone. Even when they’re too miserable to be grateful for the moment.”_ _

__He’s never done something that he felt truly made a difference to others. The Harry in this life goes to work every day to help people who are in need. Meanwhile, he puts on a suit and rides the lift up to his corporate office, and works with people who could give less of a shit about him, and certainly would never invite him to pub trivia._ _

__Harry breathes a sigh of relief when his shift ends. He hadn’t made a complete tit of himself, and better yet, he hadn’t put anyone in harm's way. Now he’s just got to figure out what he’s meant to do next._ _

__Thankfully, his sister makes it easy for him. When he and Darren exit the rehab center together, they find Gemma leaning against a car in the parking lot, waiting for him. She’s got her hair up high on her head in a scrunchie, and she’s wearing baggy acid wash jeans and a skinny white tank top over a t-shirt. Harry was a small child during this decade his first go-round, but he can’t imagine a more quintessential 90’s look than this one._ _

__“Hey,” Gemma calls. “Hi, Darren.”_ _

__Darren’s returning grin is a little too eager. He recoils guiltily when Harry glares at him. “Hey, Gemma. See you Monday, Harry.”_ _

__“Be nice to your intern,” Gemma chides him, pulling him in for a hug. “You really couldn’t have changed out of your scrubs for our– what is this? Late lunch? Early dinner? Who eats a meal at four in the afternoon?”_ _

__“We do, apparently,” Harry says, grinning happily. It’s been nearly a year since he and Gemma have gotten together, despite living in the same city. And even though this is a different version of her that’s standing in front of him, her energy is the same._ _

__Gemma drives them to a nearby family restaurant. The place is almost empty, with one or two older couples seated sporadically throughout._ _

__“So, how’s work?” Gemma asks as they wait for their salads._ _

__“Good,” Harry says. And, because he hasn’t got anything else to say about it, quickly deflects. “How about you?”_ _

__“Ugh,” Gemma says. “Terrible. I know I’ve only been with them for a few months, but I’d really like to do more than just puff pieces. I went into journalism wanting to write about politics and women’s rights. Not about the best handbag for your body type.”_ _

__Harry can relate to that. “Have you considered doing something different?”_ _

__Gemma scoffs. “It’s not so easy to just start from scratch. I’ve got to pay my bills. Not to mention, talk about a waste of a degree.”_ _

__Harry can definitely relate to that. Those are things he’s told himself whenever he’s allowed himself to think about switching careers. “Maybe it would be worth it, in the end. We’ve only got the one life, you know. Well, that we can remember, anyway. I’m not sure wasting it on a career you hate is so worth it anymore.”_ _

__Gemma rolls her eyes. “Says the bloke with a perfect, fulfilling career.”_ _

__For a moment, Harry considers telling her everything, but he’s pretty certain that even unflappable Gemma wouldn’t react favorably to Harry’s story of waking up multiple times in alternate realities. But he could really, really, use her advice right now._ _

__“Do you believe in soulmates?” he asks._ _

__Gemma’s brows lift to her hairline. “Wait. Have you met someone? Mr. ‘I don’t need a relationship to be happy’?”_ _

__Harry frowns. “No, I– I don’t think so. What do you mean I don’t need a relationship to be happy?”_ _

__Gemma regards him over her wine glass. “That’s your line, not mine. You’re always going on about how you don’t need a partner to be happy with your life. It’s so annoying.”_ _

__“That… doesn’t sound like me.” He can’t imagine a life where he’d be comfortable without anyone by his side- without Louis by his side._ _

__“I mean, I get it,” Gemma continues. “Great job, lots of friends, fun hobbies, all the hookups you want. No wonder you find being single so easy.”_ _

__Harry frowns. He hadn’t known what to expect from this life, but it certainly wasn’t this. Maybe he simply hasn’t met Louis yet. Maybe today they’ll meet for the first time like they did in Harry’s last jump._ _

__He looks down at his hand. His heart stops dead in his chest, then begins to pound at triple time._ _

__His ring is gone._ _

__“It’s not fair,” Gemma complains. “Here I am, the older sibling, with no real direction in life, and you, my younger brother who’s supposed to be the disaster, comes out of the womb with gobs of charm and disgustingly adorable green eyes and a nauseatingly positive life outlook.”_ _

__“Gemma,” Harry interrupts, panicked. “Have you seen my ring?”_ _

__Gemma’s brows knit together. “Huh?”_ _

__Frantically, Harry reaches for the rucksack he’d taken with him from work to dig through the pockets. “It’s like a bronze and silver band? I never take it off.”_ _

__”Harry, Harry!” Gemma reaches for his arm. Harry ignores her, moving from the smaller front pockets to the main compartment. “Chill out, would you? I’ve never seen you wear jewelry except on a night out.”_ _

__Harry tugs a hand through his hair. “That’s impossible.” It’s never not been on his finger in any of the other lives. What if its disappearance means he’s stuck here? What if he never returns to his own life? “Oh fuck, I’ve got to get home.”_ _

__“Alright,” Gemma says, misinterpreting. “Let me just get the bill. Do you want me to help you look for it?”_ _

__“No,” Harry says quickly. It feels like an invasion of something personal, to involve someone else. “No, I’ve got it. If you could just give me a lift-“_ _

__“Of course,” Gemma says. She’s got her concerned sister voice on. “Just let me pay the bill.”_ _

__Gemma drops him off at his flat a half-hour later. Thankfully, this version of his sister has a bit more tact than Gemma in his real life. Instead of grilling him, she keeps up the small talk, occasionally throwing him worried looks. No doubt she’s going straight home to ring their mum._ _

__“Thanks for the ride,” Harry says when Gemma pulls up to a ten-story, brick-front flat building._ _

__“Anything to keep you off that motorbike in city traffic,” Gemma says. “Are you sure you’re alright?”_ _

__“Yeah, fine,” Harry says, opening the door. “I’m sure we’ll speak soon.”_ _

__Waving distractedly as Gemma drives away, Harry shuffles up the steps slowly, letting his body do the leading. He hits the number six in the lift on autopilot._ _

__What if the reason he’s not got his ring is because he never meets Louis in this universe? What if he’s alone forever? Apparently, the Harry from this universe is alright with that. But to this Harry, it sounds incredibly lonely._ _

__He finds himself unlocking a flat door without a thought. Raised, happy voices greet his ears. There are several sets of shoes in the tiny foyer. Harry drops his chin to his chest, willing himself to take a few deep breaths. Now, on top of being on the cusp of a breakdown, he’s got to pretend to know several people he’s likely never met before._ _

__Harry sighs, adding his shoes to the pile. He’ll say a quick hello and excuse himself to his bedroom. The ring’s got to be here somewhere. He stops short when he rounds the corner. Because Zayn Malik is sat on the lounge sofa._ _

__“Hey, Harry,” Zayn says._ _

__“Hi,” Harry says, snapping his shocked mouth closed. There’s no one he’d expect to be flatmates with less than Zayn. He might even be less surprised to have another wife, in fact. He and Zayn have simply never managed to be more than polite acquaintances with one another, despite Zayn and Louis’s close friendship._ _

__“Hey Harry,” the girl tucked under Zayn’s arm says. “Good day at work?”_ _

__“Uh, yeah,” Harry says._ _

__“Harry, this is Seth,” Zayn says, gesturing to the bloke sat on the loveseat._ _

__“Hi,” Harry says, distracted. “Listen, I–“_ _

__“And that’s Louis,” Zayn continues._ _

__Harry’s heart picks up double-time as he follows Zayn’s gesture. Louis stands in the doorway to the kitchen, the bright fluorescents bouncing off his shiny hair like a halo. He’s wearing baggy jeans and a neon track jacket._ _

__“Nice to meet you,” Louis says, striding forward and offering his hand._ _

__Harry beams, shaking back enthusiastically. It takes all his willpower not to pull him into a bear hug. Louis is here!_ _

__“We’re about to watch Batman Returns. You can join us, if you like,” Zayn offers politely._ _

__Harry looks from Zayn to Louis, who’s still stood in the doorway._ _

__“More the merrier,” Louis says. He claps Harry on the shoulder as he moves past him to sit beside Seth._ _

__“Yeah, definitely,” Harry says eagerly. “Let me just go change.”_ _

__He hurries to the hall, passing by what looks like Zayn’s bedroom before finding his own. He doesn’t take much time to look around, intent on getting back to Louis. He tosses his scrubs in the corner and pulls on a pair of trackies and a Ramones t-shirt. He tugs his hair out of its bandana and then instantly regrets it. He’ll just have to rock the curly Lord Farquaad look._ _

__Disappointingly, there’s no room to sit beside Louis. Instead, Harry plops down beside Zayn’s girlfriend, who pats his knee in a friendly way._ _

__Harry spends the majority of the next hour watching Louis watch the film. He’s so beautiful to look at, and his eyes are especially blue when the light from the television flashes on his face._ _

__After the movie, Seth suggests ordering pizza and playing cards. It’s a fun night, actually. Harry never would have anticipated his day would end like this. Louis is exactly himself– witty, friendly, and flirty. A bit too flirty with Seth, in Harry’s opinion. Harry’s a bit concerned, actually, because he and Louis haven’t seemed to have that instant connection, that instant spark, that he’s so used to._ _

__Despite that, he’s truly enjoyed himself. He doesn’t think he’s had a laugh like this with Zayn in a long time. He hasn’t had an evening of just hanging out with mates in a long time, come to think of it. He hadn’t known he missed it this much until now._ _

__As things wind down, Louis excuses himself to the balcony for a cigarette, and Harry takes his chance. “Can I bum one?” he asks, leaping up from his spot on the sofa._ _

__Zayn gives him the side eye. “Since when have you smoked?”_ _

__“I imbibe every so often,” Harry says vaguely, the tips of his ears going red._ _

__Louis just winks. “What’s mine is yours, mate.”_ _

__Harry follows him out to the tiny balcony just off the kitchen. There’s not enough room to sit, so they lean against the rail as Louis lights up._ _

__“So, what do you do, Louis?” Harry asks curiously._ _

__Louis exhales a slow, thin stream of smoke. “I work in a group home for lesbian and gay teenagers.”_ _

__Harry’s eyes go wide. “Wow. That’s really amazing.”_ _

__Louis shrugs, always modest. “It’s hard work, but it’s rewarding.”_ _

__Harry feels a familiar tug of jealousy. At home, Louis also has a career derived from his passion, unlike Harry. “I’ll bet. I wish I could do something that makes a difference like that.”_ _

__“Aren’t you a physical therapist?” Louis asks._ _

__“Sort of,” Harry says. “It’s called Adaptive Services.”_ _

__“What is that, exactly?” Louis wonders._ _

__“Uh,” Harry says, scrambling for the words to explain a career he doesn’t fully understand. “It’s like, helping people with disabilities… adapt.”_ _

__Louis’s eyebrows go up. “Fascinating,” he deadpans._ _

__Harry shrugs. “I put a knob on a steering wheel for a gentleman with a weak hand today.” Well, technically, Darren did, but Louis doesn’t need to know that. “Put safety bars in a shower so a paraplegic could have some independence in the bath. “It’s important work. And I like helping people.”_ _

__Louis smiles. “Yeah. Nothing like it.”_ _

__Louis’s cigarette is nearly down to the filter. Harry’s got to work fast._ _

__“So,” he says. “Are you seeing anyone?”_ _

__Louis’s smile falters for a split second. If Harry didn’t know his microexpressions so well, he might have missed it._ _

__“I’m not, actually,” he says carefully._ _

__Harry’s heart sinks. Louis’s prepared to be polite about it, but he definitely isn’t interested._ _

__“Yeah,” Harry says quickly. “Me either. Does your mum try to set you up all the time like mine does?”_ _

__Louis laughs, although Harry can tell he’s still unsure where this is going. “All the time.”_ _

__“It’s hard for some people to understand that there are those of us out there like being single,” Harry says, remembering Gemma’s words at lunch._ _

__Louis visibly relaxes. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s not that I’m opposed to it. I’m simply not in any rush, you know?”_ _

__“Totally,” Harry agrees, swallowing down the bile threatening to rise up his throat. “When it happens, it happens.”_ _

__Louis bends to stub his cigarette out into the ashtray, just as the sliding glass door opens._ _

__“Hey,” Seth sticks his head out. “I’m heading home if you want to bum a ride.”_ _

__“That’d be great, actually,” Louis says. “Oh, shit.” He turns back to Harry, patting his jeans pockets. “I forgot.” Opening his cigarette packet, he pulls one out. “Need a light?”_ _

__Harry exhales, dejected. “Great, thanks.” He puts the cigarette in his mouth and leans forward so Louis can light the end. He turns away, facing the street, to give himself a second to control his emotions._ _

__“It was great to meet you, Harry,” Seth says behind him._ _

__“Yeah,” Harry calls. “You too, mate.”_ _

__There’s a soft hand on his elbow._ _

__“Hey,” Louis says. “It was nice talking to you. Let’s all do this again sometime.”_ _

__Harry’s so thankful it’s dark out here. This way Louis can’t see his watery eyes. “Definitely. Anytime.”_ _

__He stands out on the balcony for a long time, dumbfounded, and heavy-hearted. This was not how it was supposed to go. He and Louis were supposed to hit it off immediately._ _

__It’s his fault. He was entirely off his game all evening. This entire day has had different vibes than the rest of them. It feels a bit like this one wasn’t about Louis, which makes no bloody sense, as Harry’s still certain that they’re soulmates in this lifetime and every other._ _

__Perhaps, Harry reasons, what the Harry from this life doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. If he doesn’t know how amazing Louis is, how much meaning he brings to life, he won’t miss it. It seems that he’s got a pretty satisfying life without romantic love. It’s difficult for Harry to imagine. He hasn’t really got a satisfying life right now, and he’s got Louis._ _

__Well, he had him._ _

__When Harry finally re-enters the flat, the lounge is dark and empty. There are soft voices, and a feminine giggle coming from the closed door at the end of the hall, so Harry makes a beeline for ‘his’ room and closes the door._ _

__He hadn’t taken the time to look closely the first time he hurried in here. The room is quite small and cramped with a bed, armoire, and a desk. Like the office space, there are photographs tacked on the wall above the desk area, and a leather riding jacket draped on the back of the desk chair. There’s a stack of magazines on the bedside table– an assortment of catalogs for adaptive equipment, and motorcycle magazines. Harry opens the bedside drawer, peeks inside, and quickly closes it again, grimacing._ _

__Looking round the room, Harry feels a strange prick of jealousy. He shouldn’t do. He’ got a better life than this– more space, more money. A relationship. And yet, this Harry has managed to fill his simpler life with more pleasure. He’s got a rewarding job, plenty of friends, hobbies that he’s apparently quite passionate about. All things lacking in his real life._ _

__Oh._ _

__Abruptly, he realizes. All this time, he’s been thinking this journey is about Louis. And it has been, mostly, about learning not to take his partner for granted. But not only has Harry been prioritizing a career he doesn’t even love over Louis, but he’s also been prioritizing career over himself. His leisurely flea market dives, his friends, his weekend routines. Even his love of funky fashion. All things that have fallen by the wayside. He needs to rebalance his life in the worst of ways. And, he thinks wryly, if worse comes to worst and Louis doesn’t take him back, at least he’ll have other things to occupy his time. But Louis is going to take him back. He’s got to think positive._ _

__As Harry moves to lie down, the light from the bedside lamp catches on something small and metallic on the floor next to the bed. For a split second, he assumes it’s simply a dropped coin._ _

__The ring! How could he have forgotten?_ _

__“Oh my God!” He drops down to his knees, grabbing the ring with fingers shaking from excitement. “Yes!” he crows, bringing it to his lips. ‘Thank God. Oh, fuck, I thought you were lost forever.”_ _

__The ring is surprisingly warm to the touch and gets even warmer when he slips it on his finger. He hesitates, then tries to remove it again. It doesn’t budge. It’s a good sign, he tells himself. It means he’s getting out of here. He tries not to get his hopes up about where he’ll end up when he wakes._ _

__He tucks himself into bed and turns off the lamp, never more eager for sleep than now._ _

__He wonders what will happen between Harry and Louis from this life. Maybe if they continue to hang out they’ll fall for one another. There’s something really exciting about that._ _

__It’s really cool, actually, thinking about the infinite opportunities he gets to fall in love with Louis over the course of these lives. He’s lucky he got to experience even a little piece of them, despite the overwhelming majority of them being depressing. Not that he’ll admit any of this to the woman who sold him the rings, if he ever sees her again._ _

__Harry snuggles further into bed as sleep finally begins to overtake him, confident in the fact that wherever he wakes up tomorrow morning, things will be alright._ _


	8. Chapter 8

Harry wakes like he often does on a Saturday: to the sound of Louis crashing through the house.

Louis. Crashing through the house. He’s home.

With trepidation, he slowly opens his eyes. There’s his bedside table, with the remnants of his nightcap and dinner. His own white Egyptian cotton sheets are tangled round his waist. Light streams through the curtains Harry forgot to close when he’d gone to bed, bathing his own amazing, wonderful, never-to-be-taken-for-granted-again bedroom in golden light.

“Oh, thank god,” Harry moans, pulling the comforter up to luxuriate in his own sheets for a moment longer. “Oh, I missed you.”

The slam of the microwave door refocuses him on the task at hand. He sits up quickly, running his hands through his sleep-ruffled hair, then scrubbing them down his face. He feels like he’s been sleeping for a hundred years, he’s never felt more rested.

When he pulls his hands down, he spots the ring just sitting there innocently on his finger. Hurriedly, he yanks at it, and it slides easily off his finger. He searches wildly for somewhere to stash it and winds up tossing it in the bedside drawer and slamming it closed. He’ll never take the chance of wearing that ring again.

He takes a deep breath, then pads out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Louis is standing at the range, his back to Harry. He’s wearing a pair of worn joggers and an undershirt, and his hair is stuck up a bit in the back. Harry thinks he’s never looked more lovely. It’s all Harry can do not to pull him into a bear hug. Louis doesn’t turn when Harry pads into the kitchen, but Harry’s sure he heard him, judging by the tense set of his shoulders.

So, no bear hug then.

“Morning,” Harry says carefully. “You’re up early.”

Louis sniffs. “Yeah, well. Couldn’t sleep.”

“You slept here?” Harry asks, surprised. He’d assumed Louis crashed at Zayn’s. He can’t help but get his hopes up. “Where?”

Louis studies the eggs in the pan. They smell a bit burnt. “On the sofa.”

Harry shifts his weight. “You could’ve come to bed.” He can tell from the back of Louis’s head that he just rolled his eyes.

Harry takes a deep breath. “My priorities have been fucked up for a long time. And I’m so sorry it took you calling me on it to realize it.”

Louis turns off the hob, grabbing a plate from the cupboard. He takes a bite of his eggs, then pulls a face. “These are shit.”

“You had the heat up too high,” Harry says.

“I know how to make eggs, thanks.”

Harry doesn’t argue the point. “Louis, I know you’re furious with me, and you have a right to be. I’m furious with myself for fucking things up so terribly. And I’m going to be making changes– big changes, so we’ll have time together, and so I–”

“Save it,” Louis interrupts, moving smoothly past him to dump his full plate in the bin. “I’ve had it with empty promises. You promised you’d come to my team’s games and you’ve backed out every time. You can’t make it home for dinner any day of the week. You backed out of our fucking engagement dinner–”

“I’m quitting my job.”

For a moment, Louis is frozen. Then he whirls round. “Don’t be stupid. I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know you didn’t,” Harry assures him. “And I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but it’s not even about you. Well,” he amends, “It’s partly about you, but it’s also about me.”

Louis’s face is screwed up in agitated confusion.

Harry continues, “Do you remember a couple of weeks ago, when we were sitting on the couch and you asked me if I was happy?” Slowly, Louis nods. “I said yes. But I was lying. This experience has shown me that not only have I been neglecting my relationship, but I’ve also been neglecting myself. I don’t have any hobbies, I don’t have any free time, I don’t have any friends.” Louis opens his mouth to interrupt, but Harry cuts him off. “Tagging along with your mates doesn’t count, Lou.

“I want to do something that makes me happy, and that makes a difference, and that gives me time to nurture the other bits of me. I want to enjoy my co-workers, and know more about them besides their takeaway order and what they look like when they stress cry.”

Louis snorts at that.

“And I want to make you dinner most nights, and breakfast, so you don’t have to eat those rubbery eggs. I want to support you at your footie games. I want to drag you to flea markets on Sunday mornings and I want to buy a pair of bell-bottoms.”

“So buy some bell-bottoms,” Louis says, a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Okay,” Harry says, smiling back, eyes glistening. He sighs. “You’re my soulmate, Lou. And if I can’t win you back in this lifetime I’ll make damn sure I won’t fuck up the next one. And I can get a more fulfilling job, and make new friends, but it won’t mean the same if you’re not by my side to experience it with me.”

Louis exhales through his teeth, scrubbing his hands down his face. “I can’t do this right now. I’ve got to be on the pitch in an hour.”

“Let me come with you,” Harry says, standing up straighter. “I’ll make us something edible whilst you shower.”

Louis grimaces, shaking his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

Louis gestures vaguely. “Pretend to care.”

Harry’s heart drops into his stomach. “I’m sorry. I lost sight of a lot of shit. But I care now.”

Louis scoffs. “Sure did a lot of soul searching in the last twelve hours, huh?”

_You have no idea,_ thinks Harry. Instead, he says, “Let me at least drive you to the game. Then we can talk more afterward.”

Louis clenches and unclenches his jaw. “Fine,” he says. “But only because I fucking hate Saturday morning traffic.”

Harry claps. “Okay. You go get ready and I’ll make us something for the drive.”

Louis nods, beginning to turn away. But he stops short, regarding Harry pensively. “There’s something different about you. You seem…” He shakes his head.

“What?” Harry prompts, after a beat. He certainly feels older, and wiser, after the journey he’s been on. A bit sadder, too. There are versions of him that have suffered unspeakable heartbreak, versions of him that never got to live the lives they deserved.

“Taller,” Louis decides. “But it’s probably due to that rat’s nest on top of your head.”

Quickly, Harry brings his hands to his hair, peering at his reflection in the glass door of the microwave. Louis’s right. He looks like he just took a long helmet-less ride on a motorbike.

Louis laughs at him. “I’ll be in the shower.”

Harry takes a moment to thank his lucky stars that Louis’s giving him the time of day right now, even if he’s being mean about it.

Quickly, Harry hurries to their bedroom to get dressed before he starts on breakfast. He can hear the shower running beyond the closed bathroom door, and it makes his heart clench. He’s here again, with Louis, _his_ Louis.

Back in the kitchen in trackies and a hoodie, he cracks the last two eggs in a pan and digs through the freezer to find the frozen sausages. It’s not the best he can do, but it’s the best he can do right now.

Louis rejoins him just as he’s plating the food. He takes his portion silently, and stands at the counter rather than sitting at the breakfast bar with Harry. He doesn’t totally ignore Harry’s questions about this year’s team, though, even if his answers are short and succinct. It’s painfully obvious how little Harry knows what’s been going on in Louis’s coaching life. Jesus, Harry would’ve dumped himself too.

“Time to go,” Louis says, a few minutes later. “We’re taking your car.”

“So,” Louis says, as they’re backing onto the street. “Assuming you actually follow through and quit your job, what would you do?”

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot about how, if we’d been born at a different time, even just a few years ago, we wouldn’t have been able to be together like this.” He sees Louis’s devastated face on the rocky island when he was a pirate. He watches Louis limp up to his porch when he was a war veteran. He imagines the way Louis would’ve smelled were they able to embrace at the airport, after their seventies road trip. All those lifetimes, having to sacrifice love for safety. “I thought maybe I’d look for an LGBT business or a non-profit.”

Louis’s brows go up, clearly surprised by his answer. “And what about money?”

Harry exhales loudly. “I can’t think about that too long or I’ll lose my nerve.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You need to relax about that. We’ve got savings. We’ll be fine. Happiness is more than money in the bank, darling.”

“We,” Harry repeats, as he pulls into a parking space at the football pitch. “Does that mean…”

Louis rolls his eyes. “‘I’m still really fucking pissed. But I don’t think we’re unfixable.”

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. “Louis–”

They both start, as a kid in a red football kit suddenly bangs enthusiastically on Louis’s window, grinning widely. Louis grins back, waving. “To be continued,” he sighs. He opens the car door. “See you after. Try not to be on your phone the entire time, would you?” he snarks.

Harry blinks, patting at his pockets. He’s gotten used to not having modern technology, apparently. He wonders how many work calls he’s missed. His team is going to be so angry when he gives his notice. What if his boss refuses to write a recommendation letter, and he’s unhireable? He shakes his head, willing the negative thoughts away. It’ll be an adjustment, but it’ll be worth it.

Harry makes his way to the concessions, buying himself a coffee before the start of the game. For a kids’ football league, there’s quite a lot of spectators. It really has been ages since Harry’s been– he doesn’t see a single familiar face in the crowd.

It doesn’t much matter, because he can’t keep his eyes off of Louis. Louis has always had a way with kids, having had lots of practice at home. And as passionate about footie as Louis is, it’s no wonder he makes an amazing coach. The team isn’t that great, but they try their hardest, with Louis shouting encouragement and keeping things high energy from the sides. Harry feels a curious mix of pride and jealousy as he watches Louis in his element.

“Which one is yours?” the woman beside him asks during the second period.

“Oh,” Harry says. “Actually, it’s the coach. I’m here for the coach.”

Her face lights up. “You must be Harry! Louis’s told us about you. I’ve got to say, you’re just as handsome as he described.”

Harry makes small talk with the woman for the rest of the match. Louis’s team loses by just a few goals, and he spends a few minutes giving his boys a rousing pep talk after they’ve shaken hands. Harry lingers at the ends of the pitch, feeling like an outsider, as Louis finally collects his clipboard and bag of balls. He doesn’t introduce Harry to anyone, which stings a bit.

“Ready?” Louis says finally after the field has cleared of kids and their parents.

Harry nods. “You were fantastic out there.”

Louis chuckles. “We suck. But thanks.”

Back in the car, Harry starts again. “Louis, I–”

“It’s partly my fault,” Louis interrupts. “If I didn’t bottle everything up as I do, and I’d told you I was bothered, maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so bad. Liam says we need to work on our communication skills. He printed out a list of all the couples counselors in a thirty mile radius.”

Harry thinks Liam is very correct in his assumption.

“What if you quit your job and you regret it?” Louis demands. “What then? Will you blame me?”

“No,” Harry insists, grabbing Louis’s hand. It’s the first time they’ve touched since Harry’s returned. Harry wants to pull him over the center console and into his arms. “I already told you, I’m doing this for me too. You don’t have to worry.”

Louis exhales loudly. “I was not expecting this when I woke up this morning.”

Harry chuckles. This has gone better than he ever could have imagined. Louis is too good to him, too good for him. “Me either. Thanks for giving me another chance.”

Louis shrugs, small smile on his lips. “God help me, I love you.”

Harry closes his eyes, overcome. “I love you too. So much.”

Louis reaches forward, placing a hand on Harry’s cheek. His damp eyes are bright blue in the afternoon sunlight. He looks like an angel.

Harry kisses him. Louis’s familiar lips on his own are the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

Louis sighs, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Harry’s. “I’ve missed you.”

Harry closes his eyes, squeezing Louis’s hand. “Me too. You have no idea.”

Louis sits upright. “One more thing. Lets put a pin in the engagement. It’s sort of like putting a bandage on a bullet wound.”

“Okay,” Harry exhales, relieved. “Good.”

Louis pulls back. “Good?”

“No!” Harry hurries to explain. “Not good as in, _good_. Good as in, I want the chance for a redo.”

“A redo,” Louis repeats.

“Yeah.” Harry kisses Louis’s hand. “I want to propose to you when we’re in a good place. I want to put more thought into it than last time. And I want it to be the most romantic moment of your life.”

Louis huffs. “Thought it was pretty romantic.”

“Oh, I can do better,” Harry promises with a grin. “Besides, we need new rings.”

“New rings? Why?”

“They’re tainted. Just trust me on this one.”

Harry puts the car in drive, then reaches for Louis’s hand.

Louis squeezes back. 

Harry sighs, feeling more content than he thought possible. Things aren’t perfect, far from it, and there are going to be some major hurdles he isn’t much looking forward to. But he’s with Louis, his soulmate. And he’s on a path to personal and romantic happiness he’s not sure he would have discovered without the help of the woman who sent him on this adventure.

He wonders how things turned out for all the other Louis and Harrys out there. Thinking about it makes him a little sad, because he knows for a fact there are some less than happy endings. It just makes him more determined to make this life the best yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The fic post!](https://ham-palpert.tumblr.com/post/189976427561/every-lonely-place-rated-e-38k-complete-facing)


End file.
